How We Got To Where We're Going
by uncorazonquebrado
Summary: Sequel! C/B future fic. "...but still their flutter increases in strength and speed, as if they are ridding themselves of dust and preparing their escape."
1. Prologue

A/N This is a sequel to my other story When Walls Come Crashing Down, you should totally read that one in case you haven't ;)

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, Chuck and Blair don't belong to me...neither does French Vogue.

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What do you do when your world comes to a halt, tilting to the side as you hang on to the ledge with all your might? When something happens that makes you feel as if there is nothing but a big, aching, empty hole in your chest where your heart used to be? When the pain is so overwhelming it makes your knees buckle, your breath catch in your throat and you feel like you are caught in slow motion?

Or rather, what do you do when that happens all over again - and the one person that you would ever allow yourself to break apart in front of, the one person who once managed to piece your shattered heart back together - is the one causing you to be in this pain?

To him the answer had been simple at first. He went back to being what he knew best. Apart from being Chuck-with-Blair, that is. He went back to being "Chuck Bass" and spent most part of a week drowning out the world with alcohol, dwelling in the darkness of his chest.

After days of putting his trust in old remedies, he realized something that made him put down the tumbler that had been glued to his hand for the past couple of days. What he realized was that he hadn't been the only one to fuck it up, that he couldn't blame himself this time. He might have fucked up a little, but then she fucked up, even more than he did. Fucked them up.

The determination that he had always shown when it came to plotting and scheming kicked in, stronger now than ever before, as he began piecing himself back together. He decided to prove everyone wrong - once and for all. He studied hard for the first time in his life, dividing his time between Harvard and Bass Industries. Learning everything about his father's legacy from scratch. He kept busy and he stayed away from her. He tried his best to hate her.

After graduating and finishing his noviciate in no time, he took over the company. It caused quite the commotion when he had a majority of the board members replaced with people he trusted and then began proving everyone wrong.

One year after taking over Bass Industries he had made himself a reputation as a promising business man, one that would have made his father proud. Never seen with the same woman twice, he was also viewed as one of New York's most eligible bachelors.

He thought about her all the time.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

What do you do when everything that you believed in is proven wrong and the foundation on which you have started to build your happily ever after cracks? When the person you trusted the most lets you down in more ways than one, and hurts you more than you thought possible?

She never anticipated the day to come. The day when her – _their_ – someday became yesterday. She never saw it coming, would never have imagined them to get to that point, but somehow they did and it broke her heart. She forced it together for a while, powered by a suffocating and blinding rage. She blamed him and only him, refusing to acknowledge the voice in the back of her mind that kept whispering that she was just as guilty.

Days later when she finally lost the control she had been fighting so hard to keep – when she could no longer pretend it was all his fault and keep her heart from shattering into a million pieces – it was as if she fell into a black hole.

She spent the coming weekend in a heap on the floor of her dorm room. A big, aching hole in her chest where her heart used to be, and a pain so great it made her knees buckle and her breath catch in her throat.

Then she did what Blair-before-Chuck knew better than anything. She locked away the pain, hurt, and guilt, and decided on anger instead. Hating him and all that reminded her of him with a passion. Deciding that she would never speak to him again, never think of him and never let him near her ever again.

After spending one semester at Paris-Sorbonne University she got a summer internship at a French Vogue - an internship that lasted for the remaining summers while she was at Yale. She worked hard, like she had always been known to do. As always, she was determined to be the best that she could be. To have it all, be perfect.

When her summer internship turned into an offer of a permanent position upon graduating from Yale, she never thought twice about it. Living in Paris and working at Vogue, she worked harder than ever before, and she did well. Starting from the bottom and making her way up to a promotion using hard work, enthusiasm and talent. When she began dating the photographer-equivalence of a UES Prince Charming, she could hardly believe how well her life was turning out.

Philippe had the right manners and came from a family that had once been related to French royalty. He bought her nice gifts, told her she looked beautiful and was more than pleasant to look at. They kept their romance on the down-low to avoid ending up on gossip tabloids and he called her his "secret lover". It made her feel like she was the heroine of a romantic, renaissance novel. She had it all, she was perfect.

Still, she thought about him all the time.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

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.

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_It was a warm, spring day in Paris when her life fell apart. _

_When everything she had worked for got swept away and her perfect life shattered into tiny, stinging pieces._

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_A/N Please don't go all "#26" on me now ;) I totally blame the plot bunnies for this one!!! _

_Now what are you thinking...yey or ney?!_

_Also...a special shout out to my awesome beta Abby - **BookCaseGirl** - who not only managed to outsmart the PM function on this site (haha!) but also made this chapter ten times better.** THANK YOU!!! :D** _

_And...I do like reviews..._


	2. Paris, je t'aime

_A/N So sorry this one took so long! Didn't mean to keep you guys hanging but I've been super busy.. Anyways, here it is, chapter one! Hope you like it!_

_There're some french and german sentences in this one...and there's a big chance that some of them are all messed up, since I don't speak much french, or german, haha. If you do, and find some errors, feel free to tell me and I'll fix it right away! :)_

_(Paris, je t'aime - Paris, I love you)_

_As always, thanks to Abby for the beta-ing! you rock! :)_

_Disclaimer: Still, I own nothing..._

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The sun is shining brightly in the clear blue sky as the jet slowly heads for the runway, preparing to leave Charles de Gaulle Airport. The French capital is basking in the sunlight and looking its very best, but he is too exhausted to notice.

He is leaning back against the soft leather of the seat whilst shooting the scruffy, unshaven man slumped in a seat on the other side of the aisle an annoyed look.

Up until yesterday he hadn't seen his uncle since his senior year of high school. The notorious Jack Bass hadn't bothered with showing up to his elder brother's funeral, nor attempted to contact his orphaned nephew. No, he did neither of these things, he was too busy sulking over the fact that he had been left out completely from Bart's will, and left to run a sister company to Bass Industries in Australia.

He finds it more than a little amusing that the one person Bart Bass apparently had believed less in than his own son - had been his younger brother. The will had been fool proof when it came to keeping Jack Bass from ever taking over Bass Industries.

Jack hadn't bothered to contact him until a few weeks after his eighteenth birthday. And even then it was only because the older Bass found himself being refused access to the royal suite at the Palace during a business trip to New York. They had shared a drink at the Palace bar that one time, but that was it. He could honestly say that he had no interest in spending any more time in the presence of what was left of his family – Jack Bass was, and still is, a complete and utter asshole.

Obviously the lack of trust in Jack had been the old man's greatest trait. Whilst he had proved everyone wrong and was doing well by himself – Jack had been too busy nursing his bad habits to be able to do his job properly, thus nearly running the company bankrupt.

When his uncle had gotten himself arrested for a drug offence in Paris two days ago, he had seen no better solution to the situation than to travel there himself and bail his uncle out of jail, trying to minimize the amount of information ending up in the media.

That was how he ended up in the Bass jet at an ungodly hour of the morning, with a pounding head ache brought on by dragging Jack's intoxicated ass through the airport as discretely as possible. He had spent a good twenty minutes trying to convince the officials to allow his uncle to fly despite his current state, only to find himself literally having to pull Jack away from some poor woman in the next minute. The horrified Swiss lady was far from enjoying the complimentary lap dance she was granted after passing through the security control.

The only positive aspect of the morning was that the older Bass had passed out the moment he had pushed him down onto the seat where he is currently passed out. Hoping Jack will remain at least semi-unconscious until he has him safely locked away at the rehabilitation centre, he is taking him outside of Zurich.

He gives the curvaceous stewardess an appreciating smirk as she walks by, before reaching out for the "Le Monde". He browses through the paper as the jet accelerates and takes off. He is not really bothering to read more than the headlines. His French - if you can even refer to his minimal vocabulary as 'his French' – is in no way near fluent enough to actually read the articles.

Once the plane is in the air he flips through the last pages impatiently, looking for the economy section, and letting out a frustrated breath when he doesn't find it.

He is just about to put the paper down when he spots something on one of the pages that causes his heart to skip a beat. This sensation mixes with annoyance as he curses himself for reacting at all.

Inset in a larger picture - that is covering half a page - is one of Blair Waldorf, pressed up against a wall and kissing some sleazy-looking man. Noticing that the bigger picture also shows the same man, fervently groping an older woman, he frowns as he does his best to understand the article.

His French might be less than fluent, but with pictures like those he really doesn't need words. In his opinion the man's whole appearance screams "Casanova" and he understands enough of the article to come to the conclusion that this is nothing less than Blair Waldorf caught with someone else's boyfriend.

The whole thing strikes him as odd – the Blair Waldorf he once used to know wasn't the boyfriend stealing type. Or maybe she was; he is not sure he ever knew her at all. The Blair Waldorf he thought he knew wouldn't have done a lot of things, some of which are permanently etched into his memory. Quickly locking away ancient memories, he returns to the article again.

He doesn't know why it gets to him, seeing her in black and white caught in some big scandal. It is not as if he hasn't seen her face in a photograph once or twice over the past few years, heard her name being mentioned in conversation – his sister is her best friend for god's sake - it is not as if he cares about her or thinks about her. Her problems are no longer his concern.

He doesn't care about Blair Waldorf. He doesn't care about her. He doesn't care if she is sleeping around with some wellborn photographer; he doesn't care about her being on the French equivalence of Page Six.

Still, though, he finds himself reaching for the satellite phone on the wall next to him.

He learned not to use his cell phone whilst on board the private jet a while back, after attempting to during a flight and nearly giving the stewardess a stress induced aneurysm. Lucky for her, he is well trained in mouth-to-mouth. However, now that he isn't travelling alone such pass times are not on his schedule.

Dialling the number he knows surprisingly well by heart, impatiently drumming his fingers on the armrest as he waits for the call to connect.

"Chris? Chuck Bass" He goes straight to business as man on the other end of the line answers his call "I need you to look up someone for me…Find everything there is to know...Philippe de Valois."

Ending the call he looks over to his uncle, now awake and sitting far from an upright position in his seat, swaying heavily from side to side. The poor man even needs to hold on to the armrest to prevent himself from loosing his balance.

"Why are you talking about Philippe?" Jack's slurs, peering over to him.

"You know him?" He questions his uncle incredulously.

"Old friend of mine…" the man slurs, and the look on Jack's face tells him that this information could come in handy. This thought is something that is proven further as Jack continues.

"…maybe I should give him a call…"

"Maybe you shouldn't." He replies sternly, reaching out for the phone again, hitting re-dial "Chris, Chuck Bass again. I came across something..."

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

With the sun shining bright in a clear blue sky, she decides to walk the few blocks to the Vogue offices. She is close to bouncing down the stairs from her studio apartment, a jittery sensation in her stomach. Smiling at the memories from last night and the charity event she attended as a representative from Vogue, as she walks out the door of her building.

Attending such an event isn't all fun and games these days; still, she wouldn't have it any other way. Sure, she had to work for parts of the evening, but with Philippe also in attendance the evening hadn't been completely fun-free. She finds herself grinning at the memory of him sneaking her away from the other guests as she makes her way down the street. Her peep toe heels are clicking happily against the pavement.

Things are going so well. Her life is turning out even more wonderful than she would have imagined, and she had been expecting greatness. She deserves this; she deserves to have a superb career blossoming, she deserves her lovely apartment in the elegant Parisian neighbourhood and she deserves a nice, well mannered, and faithful boyfriend. Especially after everything that _he_…No, she shakes her head to get rid of the memories. This day is far too sunny to be shadowed by the Devil himself.

Nearby the Vogue offices she decides to treat herself to a café au lait and steps into the tiny café on the corner of the building.

"Bonjour, Pierre" She greets the owner, stepping into the tiny café she has visited so many times before.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle" The old grey-haired man replies, busy placing freshly baked pastries on a plate. The aroma is filling the air, mixing with the smell of coffee and creating a welcoming feeling. Pierre doesn't seem like his usual jovial self as he gestures to his only employee, his grandson, to start making her coffee. There is no need to tell him what she wants; he knows her routines very well by now.

As the boy gets to work, the older man picks up a copy of Paris-Match - a French tabloid magazine she knows his wife usually buys - and then sits and reads while she waits for whatever she has baking in the oven.

"Excuse-moi, mademoiselle" He says, sounding more than a little hesitant "…is you? Non?" He questions, holding out the magazine for her to see.

Looking down on the glossy page she can feel her heart sinking in her chest. Her bright mood is now quickly evaporating because there is a picture of her and Philippe kissing from the night before, a picture she wasn't aware had been taken. Make that a picture of Philippe pushing her up against a wall, her fingers tangled in his hair and his hand gripping her thigh.

This picture is joined by a picture of him kissing another woman, a woman whom she knows very well. There is a loud buzzing noise forming inside her head as she takes the magazine from Pierre and examines it closer.

The noise increases in volume as she realizes that this picture too was taken last night. She is recognizing the navy dress the woman is wearing. She was the one who picked it up from the designer store yesterday, eager to be of use to her close-to-a-nervous-breakdown-boss.

Her boss. The buzzing noise in her head is accompanied by a loud ringing in her ears as she turns around and walks out of the café, not bothering to wait for her coffee or saying anything else to Pierre, who is looking at her with a worried expression on his face.

With her heart racing a mile a minute, there is a huge part of her wanting nothing more than to run away and hide. But being who she is, she fights the feeling and somehow manages to cross the street, enter the Vogue building and take the elevator to the eighth floor.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

His phone rings as he exits the main building of the rehabilitation centre: Haus der Hoffnung, eager to get back to the airport and leave Zurich and relieved that he managed to get his uncle admitted before the older Bass got lucid enough to understand where he was.

"Chris?" He greets the man on the other end of the line "What's the dirt on this one?"

Listening as his PI reveals his latest finds, he can feel a victorious grin spread across his face. This is far better than he would ever have guessed; this is perfect. That sleazy-looking lowlife is going down.

"Excellent" he smirks "I trust you to contact the authorities, and mention my name if necessary, they are unfortunately acquainted with my _dear uncle_." The last part comes out in an ironic drawl.

Satisfied with how everything is turning out, he gets into the waiting taxi, and as the car heads for the airport he returns to not thinking about Blair Waldorf.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

She manages to keep herself together as she gathers her things and leaves the office, pretending not to hear the half-whispered comments and insults in French when she heads for the elevators.

"…such a scandal…"

"…if you are sleeping your way to the top then maybe you should go for the boss and not the boss' boyfriend…"

Not bothering with goodbyes or pleasantries, she hasn't been able to make friends, and she doesn't have the fight power at this moment to go looking for the few people she would like to see before she leaves.

They hadn't fired her, of course; they had no legal reason to, and the last thing they wanted was another scandal featured in the tabloids. They had simply informed her that given the current situation with the staff her services would no longer be needed in the fashion department. They did, however, have a position open for an assistant in the legal department if she was interested.

That was an offer she had declined with a fake smile. She was not going to go back to being someone's slave, especially not in the legal department and not after two years of working her ass off to get to where she was now. Where she had been, more precisely.

So she had resigned, and as she gathered her things and walked out of the offices she held her head high.

She managed to keep the tears from falling as she made her way back to her apartment. But, slamming the door shut, she leans back against it as hot, angry tears starting falling down her cheeks. Letting out a defeated sob before forcing the tears away, brushing the remains off her face. She has promised herself to never cry about a man again and she intends on keeping that promise.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

It is close to nine o'clock in the evening the following day when she steps out of the cab in front of Philippe's building. Persuading herself that she isn't hurt - that she just hates his guts - she takes the elevator to his floor.

She wouldn't even have considered going here if it wasn't absolutely necessary, but he has her portfolio. Or rather, he has a bunch of photographs she took a while back, that she brought with her last week to get his opinion on.

She still doesn't quite know she got into her head that she might actually have taken a few decent shots. She had obviously been delusional. He had told her they were shallow and badly composed, and even though he might be a cheating asshole, he is a world renowned photographer. He knows what he is talking about when it comes to photographs and talent.

Though there is one of them that she can't help but love herself - one she took of the Eiffel Tower weeks ago in the middle of the night with all the lights sparkling and the fountains glimmering in the dark - and she wants it back.

Ringing his doorbell, she forces herself to unclench the fist she has unconsciously balled so hard it is beginning to hurt. Her fingernails are leaving red, crescent-shaped marks in the palm of her hand.

When he opens the door it is as if her heart skips a beat and tiny needles prickle her insides – he might be a cheating asshole, but he is still absolutely gorgeous and the betrayal still hurts.

"Blair!" he blurts out in surprise when he opens the door. His blue eyes widen in disbelief before he quickly pulls himself together and shoots her a smarmy smile. "Mon amour, listen…"

"Save it," she snaps, pushing herself past him and into his spacious loft. "I just came for my portfolio."

"Blair, ma belle fille; je t'en prie…" He drawls, following after her as she rushes through his living room area, frantically looking for her black portfolio.

"I am NOT your beautiful girl!" She hisses, in response to his pathetic attempts to calm her down. She resists the urge to throw some of his precious camera lenses, which are lying on a table, in his gorgeous face. He isn't worth destroying an expensive camera lens over, no matter how fulfilling the action would be.

"Chérie, I can explain…" Philippe refuses to give up and walks up to her, placing his hands on her upper arms, he is looking at her with a pitiful expression on his face. As his cheating, deceiving fingers come in contact with her bare skin she can no longer resist the urge she was fighting. Shrugging away from his touch she resolutely sends one of the lenses flying and smashing into the wall.

"Non!" The horrified look on his face resembles one you would see on a cartoon character, and if she wasn't so angry she would have laughed. Instead she shoots him one of her famous death glares and moves on to the bedroom with him following her steps.

Rummaging through a pile of papers on his desk frantically, she finally finds her portfolio, and begins checking its contents to make sure nothing is missing. She is just about to turn around and leave, intending on never, ever looking at him again, when there is a violent crashing sound echoing through the loft. This is quickly followed by the sound of people running and a man's voice yelling something aggressively in French that she can't quite comprehend.

A rush of panic pulses through her veins and she cradles the portfolio to her chest like a shield. She can see Philippe's face freeze in horror before he hurls himself towards the bathroom, disappearing inside and slamming the door shut before locking it.

Looking over to the bedroom door, now knowing what to do or what is gong on, she finds herself looking right into the barrel of a gun, held by a man all dressed in black.

"Police! Les mains en l'air!"

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_Next chapter won't take too long, I promise!_

_Thoughts?!_


	3. Paris, je te déteste

_**A/N** _

_I'm so so sooo sorry these updates keep taking so long! Life...or SCHOOL...keeps getting in the way! busy me + busy beta = bad combo for speedy updates_

_oh, this is un-beta'd. sorry for any mistakes and grammatical errors!_

_And I have to shamelessly advertize my new one-shot(s)/songfic. haha. check them out if you want!_

_(Paris, je te déteste - Paris, I hate/despise you)_

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He had fully intended on being back in New York by now, he really had. He doesn't like Paris. There is just something about the city that leaves an uneasy feeling in his gut. It is too elegant, too charmingly sweet yet utterly deceiving. The chic stores, restaurants and lavish hotels and then the dark alleys, whispered secrets and Bois de Boulogne – the park where just about anyone could get their every…need, satisfied. The city is too complicated and too demanding, the fact that it is viewed as one of the most romantic cities in the world is ludicrous to him. He thinks of Paris like a temperamental woman; discretely elegant, enticing and sexy, maintaining a perfect façade to cover its harsh tongue and deceiving nature.

He doesn't like Paris.

Stepping out of the elevator at the floor where his office is situated - the sun still shining bright in the sky, the light seeping through the blinds covering the large windows - he is greeted by his French secretary.

"Monsieur Bass" The woman greets him as he walks through the door.

She used to work for his father; she middle-aged, married and her daughter just had a baby. All of those qualities are reasons he decided to keep her on staff – he really does his best not to mix business with pleasure, and there really is no need to risk temptation by hiring someone new who is hungry for approval.

"You have a meeting at ten o'clock with the new investors." She informs him further in heavily accentuated English, handing him a coffee mug as he walks past where she is standing in front of her desk.

"Thank you, Giselle" He nods before entering the office he occupies when he finds himself in Paris.

Sitting down behind the desk he turns the computer on before sipping his coffee, the caffeine dancing through his veins. Paris might be a bitch but at least there is good coffee.

Suddenly remembering something he can not help a devilish grin from spreading across his face. Quickly pulling himself together and putting on a mask of indifference, he calls out for the secretary;

"Giselle?"

"Oui, monsieur?" She is standing in the doorway in seconds, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"Do we have a copy of the morning paper?"

"One moment." She requests, turning around on her heels and disappearing out of sight.

Returning moments later with a neatly folded copy of Le Monde. Her steps silenced by the carpeting on the floor as she walks up to him and hands him the newspaper.

"Thank you" He can not help a smirk from appearing on his features once again as he unfolds the newspaper to reveal the front page. Looking like a five year-old on Christmas morning and confusing the secretary with his unusually cheery self, before he dismisses her with a wave of his hand, his focus on nothing but the newspaper in front of him.

It had been too easy to frame that sleazy-looking, brainless model-seducer – really - it had been a walk in the park. The French Police had apparently been keeping an eye on Philippe de Valois for quite some time; his own personal agenda had only provided them with the last pieces of evidence, which enabled them to move ahead with their plans.

Relishing in the self-satisfaction that comes with a scheme gone well, his smirks widen further as he discovers that "his" little discovery has made the front page.

Smirking until the headline catches his attention, together with a big, grainy image accompanying it;

Photographe et son maitrêsse - revendeurs de drogue – arrêté hier!

His smirk dies in an instant only to be replaced by a scowl. Mistress? Drug dealers? Arrested?

Plural?

What the fuck? This doesn't make sense to him at all. Furrowing his brows as he examines the front page closer, taking a sip from his coffee absentmindedly as he flips open the paper to have a look at the article.

A few minutes later he has managed to translate enough of the article to understand that right now, Blair Waldorf is most likely locked up in custody somewhere in Paris.

Philippe de Valois is a drug dealer - that he knows for sure. His uncle had him on speed dial for god's sake, that alone is evidence enough in his opinion. And even though he has kept telling himself that he really never, fully knew her, he knows that there is no way in hell that article is telling the truth.

Being certain that she is being wrongfully accused of whatever it is she got arrested for, unfortunately doesn't answer any of the questions he is trying to block out at the moment. What the hell was she doing in Philippe's apartment? Why would she go back to that cheating, crackhead?

She got arrested because of me.

She only has her herself to blame. I don't care.

She got arrested because of me.

Up until this moment there has only been one time in his life when he has regretted scheming and ratting someone out. He can't help but find it more than a little ironic that that one time also centred around her; up until now the only scheme he has ever wanted undone is telling Gossip Girl about her pregnancy scare.

The irony is suiting in more ways than one, apparently most of his biggest regrets includes those white, plastic sticks.

No, that has nothing to do with this. This is all her fault; why was she even there in the first place?

But there it is now, that regretful, guilty feeling pestering his insides, mixing with tiny stings of old hurts and regrets.

It has been a long time since he wanted to break something as badly as he does right in this moment. Settling with flinging the newspaper off his desk, running his fingers through his hair frustrated.

Cursing whatever higher power that won't keep her out of his life, won't allow him to _not_ think about her, he gets to his feet and starts pacing. Coming close to kicking a bookshelf covering the wall of the office in pure frustration.

Why couldn't he just have stayed out of it?

Well, he didn't stay out of it, and as he paces around the office he comes to the conclusion that the only way for him to be able to go back to _not _thinking about her, is to clean this mess up.

"Giselle!" He barks, and the secretary appears within seconds, looking slightly alarmed by her boss' sudden change of mood. "Cancel my ten o'clock and get my attorneys on the phone, now!"

Pacing around no longer enough, he turns on his heels and slams his foot into the bookshelf.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

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_I'm sitting here...writing on a paper for uni that has a deadline in the not so distant future...reviews would make me smile in my misery ;)_


	4. De nouveaux amis et d'anciens amants

_**A/N** __And we're back in the game!!! I'm guessing I'm not the only one who was in serious withdrawal during the sites "mid-season hiatus" (haha)_

_Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and put this on alert. You guys make me smile! Thank you!_

_and a huge thank you to my amazing beta Abby, who worked her magic on this Frankenstein of a chapter!!! :)_

_Flashbacks are in italics_

_I would love to know what you guys think of this one!_

_(de nouveaux amis et d'anciens amants = new friends and former lovers)_

* * *

There had been photographers - paparazzi to be exact – outside the police station. Her phone was ringing constantly as she closed the door to her apartment; her answering machine already full. She disconnected the phone and turned her cell phone off before heading for the kitchen. She began emptying out the entire contents of her fridge, only to stick her fingers down her throat ten minutes later when the guilt and the self loathing became overwhelming.

Horrified by her own behaviour, she retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom with her new best friends: Monsieur Dom Pérignon and Madame Sauvignon Blanc. There is a limit to how low she will allow herself to stoop – even now – and to fall back into old habits is well past that limit.

Some time during the night she decided to change her outfit, rummaging through her entire closet in a drunken haze before settling for a navy, floor length Valentino. In her own drunken opinion, it was a marvellous tribute to Holly Golightly. She tells herself that if she is going to be unemployed, a former mistress, and in trouble with the law, then at least she should do it with style and class like Audrey Hepburn. Happy with her new outfit, she ended up using the last drops of her bottle of wine to swallow two sparkling white sleeping pills.

It was not to end her own misery terminally – no, absolutely not – wouldn't a suicide splashed all over the papers be the icing on the cake of her social destruction? She just needed to sleep; she desperately craved to sink into a deep and dreamless sleep, and she did just that.

Now she is awake, the sunlight seeping through her curtains telling her that it is now morning and a new day. She doesn't care, though, and barely notices because she is busy floating on a cloud of blissful intoxication - stretched out on her bedroom floor, surrounded by disregarded pieces of clothing, completely carefree. Dresses, skirts and tops lay in heaps all over the room, jewellery in piles, sparkling in the rays of sunlight dancing around the room.

Relishing in her numb, disconnected state, she scowls as a sound she can not quite place interrupts her pleasant daze. Slowly working herself into an upright position she fumbles after her glass, and with drunken precision pours herself a glass of champagne.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

He steps out of the limo and looks up at the old, white building basking in the sunlight. The way he slams the car door shut is the only indication to the battle raging inside of him; it is the only thing contradicting the indifferent, calm mask he is hiding behind.

He has spent the entire night lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, and trying to convince himself that there is absolutely no need for him to do anything more. He got her out of there, surely that must be enough.

If she would answer her phone, the answer would be yes; unfortunately that is not the case. It was the images of how she could possibly be handling her latest experiences that kept him from sleeping, and instead had him twisting and turning for hours.

He is seething and pacing impatiently around the small compartment as he takes the elevator to her floor. He feels more than a little hesitant and is close to slamming his fist in the wall from pure frustration as his heart rate increases from the mere thought of ringing her door bell.

He tells himself that he is being a fool and shakes his hand, before pressing his thumb against the small, silvery button.

He is waiting, listening attentively to try and pick up on any noise coming from inside the apartment, and pacing impatiently in the hallway when there is no reaction. He then rings her door bell again. Finally there is a thud behind the closed door, a click in the lock, and then the door slowly swings open.

Seeing her is like being sucker punched or getting a bucket of ice cold water emptied over his head. It leaves him completely floored for a second or two, unable to speak or move; all he can do is look at her.

She looks exactly the same.

A rush of memories, long ago stored away in the back of his mind, suddenly come flashing before his eyes in full colour.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

She stumbles out of the bedroom, slowly making her way to the front door after recognizing the sound as her door bell. Still clutching the champagne flute in her fingers, she is sipping some champagne as she walks. Tripping on the hemline of her dress, she stumbles into the wall next to the door, banging her forehead in the wall, but somehow managing to maintain a grip on her precious drink.

She slowly unlocks the door and opens it. She realizes that she should have probably looked through the peep hole to make sure it is not a journalist or paparazzi, but she is too intoxicated to have remembered.

The sight awaiting her outside her door is as effective at sobering her up as a freezing cold shower. As she spots him, standing outside her door, dressed in a dark suit and a purple shirt, all she can think is that he looks exactly the same.

She doesn't like to admit it to herself, but she has been thinking about what it would be like to meet him again more than once over the years. Wondering when it would happen, knowing it was bound to sooner or later. Wondering how it would feel, what she would say.

What exactly do you say to the person you hate more than anything now, because you loved him more than anyone before - and he fucked you over?

She has thought about it, but nothing could have prepared her for the wave of emotion that rushes through her system as the memories she has locked away come rushing back.

They haven't seen each other in six years, and the irony of the situation is overpowering. Just when she thought that things couldn't get any worse, he shows up on her doorstep. She doesn't want him there, and she certainly doesn't want him to see her like this. Never, ever did she imagine their reunion taking place under circumstances like _this_.

It cannot be happening.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

She is a mess.

That is the first thought that crosses his mind once he regains some kind of control over his own thoughts. She is wearing a floor length dress with a plunging neckline, her makeup is smudged and the lipstick she is wearing is smeared. She is standing - leaning heavily against the doorpost, clutching a champagne flute.

Her eyes are blank and empty, and she is looking at him dumbfounded, staring at him for what seems like an eternity. Then she starts laughing.

It is a hollow, manic laugh that sends chills down his spine. The uncontrolled, high-pitched sound echoes in the stairwell, causing her to bend over and gasp for air from its intensity.

"You might want to lay off the drinks" He points out harshly, as he moves past her and steps into her apartment.

Her laughter dies out, and as she straightens up unsteadily, her detached and glassy eyes have a hint of contempt in them.

"What are you doing here?"

"Serena wanted me to see how you were doing."

"Aw, the unconditional sibling-love" She spits, poison in her voice and in her eyes "I am perfectly fine, thank you," Her last words come out in a sneer.

"I can tell…" He retorts expressionlessly before continuing with the same venom lacing his words. "…The trashy call girl-look doesn't look that great on you."

"Go to hell."

"I did, they wouldn't let me in." His answer is clipped and without the humorous tone and suggestive smirk that would normally be accompanying it.

The quick reply causes her lips to curl in distaste.

"Funny….the Devil rejecting his own spawn…" She drawls, her voice reeking with disdain, and her eyes shooting daggers as she knocks her glass back and empties it "…now why does that sound so very familiar?"

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

_He had__ been drinking for hours, desperately downing glass after glass because without her there with him, drinking was his only way to escape that hellish day. It had been a year, one year to the day, since his world was altered and all the air got sucked out of his lungs with one, simple sentence:_

'_I am sorry…we did everything we could…' _

_One year ago__. And the pain it brought caught him by surprise. He hadn't expected it - he hadn't been prepared for the overwhelming emotion - and didn't know how to handle it. So he drank himself senseless, doing everything in his power to become numb as he waited for the day to be over. _

_It was late in the afternoon and he was__ slumped down on his couch. He kept his eyes open even though the room was spinning around him, simply because every time he closed his eyes the darkness became overbearing, and allowed thoughts and memories he couldn't bear to deal with to sneak up on him and take over his mind. _

_Swirling the liquid around in his tumbler __with unsteady hands, the amber liquid spilled over the rim of the glass from time to time and stained his shirt. The room was spinning more and more with every drop he consumed and his head had begun to pound - but still he wasn't done; he was determined not to stop until he passed out._

_Suddenly there was__ a knock at the door and the sound echoed through his intoxicated brain. Ignoring whoever was standing outside, he knocked the glass back and poured the last drops of scotch down his throat, savouring the burning sensation as it momentarily washed away the pain. When the person at the door knocked again he scowled drunkenly, as he struggled to move himself in an upright position. _

"_Fuck off__" He growled with a waving motion of his hand and lost his grip of the tumbler, sending it down to shatter against the wooden floor._

_When there was__ no response - and the knocking continued - he got to his feet slowly, pausing for a brief moment when the spinning walls picked up speed. _

_L__eaning heavily against the doorpost he tried to open the door, when the unmistakable sound of a key being inserted into the lock– unlocking the door - was heard and broke the silence of the room._

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

_She had__ had an important lecture that just couldn't be ignored, but headed for Harvard as soon as they were done. When she knocked at his door and only got a drunken 'fuck off' and the sound of glass breaking in response, she got more than a little worried. Quickly rummaging through her bag, she then unlocked his door with the spare key. _

_She thought h__e might think that he wanted to be left alone, but believed she knew better._

_As she pushed__ the door open he was the first thing that she saw, standing right beside the door and leaning against the frame: shirt wrinkled, hair dishevelled and legs unsteady. The look in his eyes sent chills down her spine. _

_It had__ been a little less than a year since she had seen him that drunk, and she hadn't seen that bottomless, aching, grief during that time either. Hadn't seen it since that day when she and Serena knocked on the door of 1812 and found him drunk out of his mind._

_It took__ a second or two before he registered who she was._

"_Blair?" His voice was hoarse and laced with pain as he looked at her disbelievingly._

_Stepping inside his room she simply pulled him into her arms, holding on to him tightly, and enabling him to bury his face in the crock of her neck. She felt the tension of his shoulders and could smell the alcohol on his breath. _

"_I am sorry __I took so long." She whispered softly as he put his arms around her waist to pull her closer and let out a deep, tired sigh. His breath hot against her skin._

"_I didn't want to think…__" He whispered, explaining his current state, then pleaded to her "…make it go away."_

_She then slammed the door shut with her foot and pressed her lips against his, unbuttoning her coat as he stumbled backwards, pulling her with him. With her coat in a heap on the floor she began working on his shirt, their kiss deepening as he sat down on the bed and reached out for her, his hands disappearing underneath her skirt._

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

_He had__n't seen her in weeks, not since that day when she had showed up and made sure to keep his mind off anything and everything besides the feel of her skin against his. She had spent Christmas and New Years in France with her father and Roman, excited to get to spend Christmas with her father, without risking disappointment and cancelled flights. _

_He had__ been busy too. After spending Christmas with the van der Woodsens in the Hamptons, he and Nate had spent New Years in the city. He had contemplated taking the jet and heading off to France just to get to see her for New Years, but an important business meeting that required his presence shortly afterwards had made his plans impossible. _

_Normally be__ing back in school after the holidays would have been tedious to say the least, but with missing her and not being able to get a hold of her, being back at Harvard was a plague. They had barely spoken all week, he had been occupied with his half hearted attempts to catch up on school work after being away on business, and she had been strangely distant._

_Dialing __her number for the third time that day he cursed through clenched teeth as his call went straight to voicemail._

"_Blair, listen, I don't know what is going on..." He sighed, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut "…but I am going to New York on business and I am coming to see you on my way there. Call me back."_

_A few hours later he knocked at the door of her dorm room, shoving his hands in his pockets and resisting the urge to tap his foot impatiently before she finally opened her door._

"_Chuck?__" The lack of happiness and excitement in her voice didn't do anything to ease his worries. "What are you doing here?"_

_Stepping inside, he leaned in and kissed her, fear rushing through his system as she barely kissed him back. The distant look in her eyes is told him he had been right in worrying and he just wanted to shake some emotion back into her._

"_I__ tried calling you…" He explained "…but you wouldn't answer your phone or call me back," The worry and confusion evident in his voice. "What is wrong, Blair? Did I do something?"_

"_No, you have done nothing…wrong." She tra__iled off and diverted her gaze, fidgeting with the cuff of her blouse._

"_Blair?"_

"_I have got to finish some things here…" She said, looking back up at him, and then offered him a frail smile "Could you meet me at Starbucks in a little while?"_

"_Sure" He replied, the look on her face ruled out any objections or comments about waiting for her right there in her room. _

_He swallowed__ hard to rid himself of the tightening feeling in his throat, before he spoke again. "I am on my way to New York, but I have an hour or two." _

_There was__ no joke about how much 'quality time' they could squeeze in during that limited amount of time, no attempt on his side to move this discussion to her bed, because the distance in her eyes left the words stuck in his throat._

"_Okay__," She nodded, visibly relieved. "Good."_

_And b__efore he knew it, he was standing in an empty hallway staring at her closed door._

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

_He __sat in an old armchair in the busy café, drinking coffee and wishing it was 'irished', when she walked through the door. He eyed her thoughtfully as she ordered a coffee, paid, and waited for her order without really looking at him. The butterflies fluttered as much as always, but then it just felt as if their wings were made out of shattered glass. _

_He got to his feet as she walked__ up to him, and managed to steal another quick kiss before they sat down but the uneasy feeling inside of him wouldn't budge. Once they were seated she sipped her drink without saying anything, he gave her a moment and then interrupted her silence._

"_So, are you going to__ tell me what is wrong?"_

_The question came__ out in a much harsher tone than planned and he cringed within as she stiffened noticeably before his eyes. She didn't look back at him as he spoke but sat in silence for a while, twisting her ruby ring around her finger._

"_I am late." She spoke so quietly he could barely register what she was saying over the buzz in the busy café. Locking her fingers around her mug, she took another sip._

_The first thought that ran through his head was that they didn't set a specific time, and he opened his mouth to point that out to her when it dawned on him. Looking over to her, he urged her to continue without words._

"_I haven't…" She trailed off, still fidgeting with her ring "…taken a test yet…" Finally she looked up at him, the worry and hesitation visible in her eyes "But I am late…really late."_

_He s__at up straighter, not saying a word as her words raced through his mind, sending shock waves through his brain and echoing in his chest._

_Shock__ and surprise petered out to disbelief. Disbelief petered out to an ounce of strange pride and a tiny shrill of joy. Then it all got washed away as a tidal wave of fear and blinding panic came flowing through his mind, taking over. _

_He __couldn't understand where it came from, and as he spoke again there was a part of him that couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth;_

"_Is it mine?"_

_She was clearly__ startled by his words, and looked back at him - eyes wide with surprise and disbelief – as the fingers still fidgeting with the ruby ring on her finger came to an immediate halt._

"_What?" Her voice was a hollow, barely there whisper as she looked at him with a slight crease on her forehead._

"_I said, is it mine?" He repeated - and the part of him that was horrified at his words screamed at him to shut up, not to say another word. But the flowing panic deafened everything. "We haven't exactly been around each other much lately."_

_He could__ tell the exact moment when she put her walls up. The surprise and disbelief in her eyes disappeared, only to be replaced with the cool stare belonging to her ice queen mask. Picking up her bag, she got to her feet without another word. _

_Then – still not saying __anything– she turned around and walked away._

_He did__n't run after her. The sound of the door closing behind her dried up the remains of panic, and left him empty and frozen to the spot, staring blankly into thin air. _

_When his driver called half an hour later he still sat__ in the same position as when she left. The coffee in the mug on the table in front of him just as cold and dark as he felt on the inside._

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

"Watch it" He growls, some of the old feelings seeping through his mask and into his voice as she reminds him of that day when it all began to spiral out of control. His comment earns him nothing more than a haughtily raised eyebrow.

"Go to hell. I don't want you here," she repeats with a scowl, slurring a little on her words.

"I guess that makes us even, because I don't want to be here."

"Get the fuck out!" She hisses, motioning him to leave with her hand.

She turns around to walk away, but stumbles and nearly falls flat on her face, only saved from plummeting to the floor by a quick move on his part as he leaps forward and manages to get a hold of her. One arm firmly around her waist, the other one catches a hold of her hand - the one close to dropping the champagne flute.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

The room is spinning and she is close to ending up in a pile on the floor, but then she feels his arm around her waist and his strong hand around her trembling one.

"Careful, Waldorf." His voice doesn't sound nearly as venomous as earlier. The words are coming out in a low, concerned - to her extreme unnerving - tone. "Are you okay?"

Is she okay? Her world has fallen apart, and now he is here. His concerned tone combined with the all too familiar feeling of his arm around her waist, his chest pressing against her back, is too much.

She is the furthest from okay she has ever been.

"Let go of me," she whispers, desperately trying to regain control over her feelings and the situation.

"Are you okay?" He repeats, as if she didn't hear him asking her earlier.

Steadying herself in his arms, she turns around, shrugging away from his touch without saying anything in response or even looking at him.

She finds herself tensing up as he doesn't loosen his grip around her wrist when she tries to turn and walk away. Suddenly panicking, she needs him to go away and allow her to sink back into her peaceful, unfeeling state of mind.

"Let go of me!" She repeats, trying to ease her wrist out of his grip.

Looking him straight in the eyes with the intention of giving him a taste of her death stare, she immediately realizes that it was a mistake – a big mistake. His brown eyes are looking straight down at her in concern, a small frown on his face as he is obviously trying to decide whether or not to let her go.

She can feel tears starting to burn at the corners of her eyes, horrified as one escapes and slides down her cheek. There is nothing she wants less than being vulnerable in front of him. The realization that she is about to lose control sends her into panic mode.

"I said, let go of me!" She yells, slamming her fist in his chest, gasping as he pulls her closer to prevent both of them to fall over and end up on the floor.

"Calm down," he commands, furrowing his brows further.

"No! I said _let go_!" She spits back. "You don't get to do this!" She continues on, close to sobbing now, frantically trying to prevent the tears filling up her eyes from falling. "You don't get to show up like this!"

As she speaks, she is slamming her fist into his chest repeatedly, marking each of her words with a punch.

"You do not get to try and be the hero after everything you have done to me! I don't need your help, you asshole!" She cries out, trying to wriggle herself free, irresolute as he just stands there - not reacting to her abuse - and simply holds onto her wrist to keep her from falling. She is struggling with keeping her balance.

"You can't do this…" Her voice breaks and she chokes on a sob, her free hand coming to a stop, resting with its palm open on his chest. "I can't…"

Losing her battle against the tears, she breaks out sobbing, gripping at the cotton of his shirt.

Burying her face against his chest, no longer caring about whom he is or what he has done, as her tears starts pouring down her cheeks, needing something - someone - to hold on to.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

_I __should have let her go when she asked me to_, he thinks as he stands there wanting nothing more than to move away from her touch, away from her.

A waft of her perfume invades his senses, leaving him light headed and with a tightness in his chest that makes it difficult to breathe. It is a scent that is so firmly related to everything her - and them – in his mind that he can no longer stand it. He once left a date standing on her doorstep because she used the same perfume and it completely floored him. He got completely wasted at that benefit and ended up passing out on Al's couch.

Even though he is feeling as if he is gasping for air, he forces his arm to move and position itself around her trembling frame, pulling her closer to his chest.

He doesn't know how long it takes, but after a while her sobs dies out and she starts to relax in his arms. Realizing she is close to passing out, exhausted from crying as well as from the alcohol, he takes her in his arms and carries her in the direction of what he assumes to be her bedroom. He curses fierily on the inside as she slides her arm around his neck habitually and buries her face in the crock of his neck.

She is passed out as he steps into her bedroom, shaken by the sight awaiting him there. It looks as if a fashion tornado has struck the small bedroom, with its cream coloured walls and big, old-fashioned bed. Clothes and accessories lay all over the tiny space, forcing him to tread carefully between the piles on the floor.

Putting her down on the bed, he pulls a blanket over her sleeping frame before getting to work.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

It is not until he steps back out on the street that he notices his absolute exhaustion. His chest is aching both from her unkind treatment and from the tightness caused by simply being around her.

Adding these last hours to his list of regrets, he gets into the waiting limo and the vehicle starts heading for the airport. He is leaning his head back against the head rest and letting out a tired sigh as his phone starts ringing in his breast pocket.

"Hello?"

"I just heard about Blair, are you still in Paris?" Serena's worried voice comes on the other end of the line.

"Well, it's good to hear your voice too, sis," he snorts tiredly, pressing at the inside corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

"Cut it out Chuck. I am worried about her." Serena retorts and he can picture the frown on her forehead easily.

"Could you go and check on her for me? Please?" She pleads and normally he would do whatever she asks of him in a heartbeat, but this time he wants nothing more than to forget that the last hours of his life ever happened.

"Don't worry about it," he tells her, "I took care of it."

"I didn't ask you to 'take care of it' by calling your pompous attorneys or your stupid PI!" Serena exclaims, obviously upset with his reply. "I am asking you to go and see if she is alright; be her friend."

"She doesn't want me as her friend," he snaps, not bothering with telling her the truth and doing his best to ignore the tight feeling returning to his chest. He can tell that Serena is about to object, so he interrupts her before she gets the chance.

"Look, I took care of it, okay? I have got to go, I am boarding the jet." He lies effortlessly, pushes the red button quickly, and puts his phone back in his pocket without waiting for Serena's reply.

He pours himself a drink, downing it in one go, in a futile attempt to ease the still present tightness in his chest. Then he refills his glass and leans back against the seat once again as the car moves through the busy Parisian traffic.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*


	5. New York, I love you?

_**A/N** I am a horrible person for keeping you guys waiting, I am sorry! I suffered from some severe writer's block when it comes to this chapter... _

_**riclynshea, ximaginex** (for some reason the stupid site won't save the dots in your name!)**, malfoyie456, princetongirl and chelle2911** - thank you SO MUCH for reviewing on the last chapter, you guys are amazing!!! and thanks **Abby **for the beta, you rock!_

_I'm a little hesitant about posting this, cause I struggled with it a lot. Blair-angst (hah) is not something I usually write...neither is anything that has to do with Serena...so please tell me how I did, and what you think of this story so far!!! If I'm getting them all ooc, if the plot is just lame, you hate me for the lack of C/B right now...etcetc (believe me, there is a lot more flashbacks coming up if I keep on writing this. the one from the last chapter is only the beginning of what became the end..! and I miss the C/B too...haha. it's coming, I swear!) I know that there are a lot of you that read this story, let me know you're out there ;) Your reviews are what keeps me going._

* * *

The room is dark when she wakes up. The pale light from the streetlights has replaced the dancing rays of sunlight and is giving her bedroom a greenish glow, making it appear almost as if under water. She experiences a few seconds of blissful amnesia before she remembers the events of the morning. The unpleasant memories cause her to cringe and bury her head in the pillow. The embarrassment is mixing with the feeling of having a barbed wire wrapped around her skull and being completely parched.

She had been thinking that she couldn't possibly feel more humiliated than she did earlier, but clearly she had been wrong. Apparently being strip searched and interrogated by the police is easily trumped by standing face to face with Chuck Bass.

Slowly opening her eyes and squinting looking around the room, the first thing that catches her attention is a glass of water on her beside table and the two aspirins next to it. A part of her is thanking the heavens as she slowly works herself into a sitting position and downs the pills - another part is both uncomfortable and confused by the gesture.

As she looks around the dimly lit room she can't help but noticing that there is no longer a single piece of clothing or jewellery on the floor, no empty bottles or glasses. For a second she thinks that she might have dreamt about her impromptu dress up the other night, but she makes her way over to the closet - opening it - and quickly comes to the embarrassing conclusion that she didn't.

Her clothes might be neatly hung in a row on their hangers, but they are all in the wrong order. She swiftly replaces the embarrassment with annoyance, a reaction so natural for her when it comes to thinking of him that she barely notices doing it anymore. Who the hell does he think he is?

Spotting her phone on the dresser she walks over and - after a moments hesitation - turns it back on. Seconds later it is buzzing as if possessed, message after message appearing on the screen. Mostly voicemail alerts, but some are regular texts from former colleagues, as well as a few from Serena and her mother.

She doesn't want to talk to them. _Not yet, maybe later,_ she tells herself as she puts the phone back down on the dresser. Maybe later when she can muster the strength to at least pretend to be something – someone - again.

As she turns to leave her bedroom and head for the bathroom, she catches sight of herself in the mirror of her vanity. She looks a mess. He was right; she does look exactly like a trashy call girl after a night's work, and she certainly doesn't feel like anything but a cheap prostitute. The tiny menacing voice that she was desperately trying to drown out last night returns, tauntingly whispering in the back of her mind:

_You are not perfect._

_You are no one. _

Suddenly coming back to life, she grabs her phone from the dresser, and hurls it towards the vanity with surprisingly good aim. The phone crashes right into the mirror of the vanity and breaks the glass - leaving her reflection in shatters - a dozen, splintered versions of Blair looking back at her.

Then she heads for the closet, and sends pieces of expensive clothing flying - the clothes falling like snowflakes through the air and landing in heaps on the floor, on her bed, all over the room.

Once the closet is empty, it is as if all air is sucked out of her lungs. She sags down on the floor inside the dark closet, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in her arms.

_You are so pathetic_.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

He has been back in New York for a few days and is sitting behind his desk preparing for a meeting with the board, as Serena walks through the door of his office. Dressed in a blue pencil skirt and a white shirt she looks like the epitome of the young, successful wonder child of advertising that she has become.

"Chuck, hey" She smiles, pushing a stray lock of blonde hair back into place behind her ear.

"Sis," He nods. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Lunch?"

"No time," He replies apologetically, browsing through some of the documents on his desk. "I have a meeting in less than thirty minutes."

"I figured." Serena replies, showing him the paper bag she had kept hidden behind her back and without waiting for a reply, sitting down on the sofa in the corner of the office. "I brought you sushi; now get your ass over here."

"Ah, such generosity; I don't know if I can handle it." He sighs as he walks over and sits down on the sofa next to her.

"Let's hope that you can." She smiles as she goes on with unpacking their lunch, separating the chopsticks and taking the lids off the plastic containers.

Reaching out for a pair of chopsticks he then starts lifting the tuna rolls from his box and replacing them with the salmon ones from Serena's, whilst she is busy opening the lids of the packages of soy sauce and pushing the wasabi in his direction.

It is a well practiced routine by now - based on more than one lunch 'at the office' and how both of them know each other's likes and 'ew, no thank you-s' -and they do it without thinking. Once the appropriate exchanges of food have been made they start to eat, and it takes a while before she interrupts the silence.

"I talked to Eric yesterday." She says and her words are a blur from talking with her mouth full.

"You have the manners of a caveman." He states teasingly, and then ducks in mock fright as she throws a napkin in his direction. "How is he doing?"

"He is good. " She smiles, having swallowed her food "He is dating someone new, did you know?"

"No, I didn't know. I will have to give Chris a call."

"You wouldn't!" She gasps, giving him a horrified look.

"No, I wouldn't" He admits - because he wouldn't – the looking into your family's personal affairs is too much of a Bart like thing to do, and that is definitely not something that he is aiming for.

He might have considered it a little more seriously a few weeks ago, but the last time he dialed the number of his PI, things didn't exactly go as planned and it has kind of made him lay off the use of said PI a since.

They finish their meals, not talking about anything in particular. Serena finishes her lunch by shoving her mouth full with the last remaining tekkamaki, and he rolls his eyes despondently at her lack of manners.

She only shoots him a mischievous look before saying something he can barely interpret.

"What? Am I going to have to pay for etiquette classes or send you to a reformatory school to be able to understand anything that comes out of your mouth?" He smirks, "…surely Nate must have erased the Brooklyn manners you might have picked up whilst dating Humphrey Dumpty by now?"

"I said, Blair is coming back tomorrow." She repeats moments later, her words rapidly erasing the sly smile on his face.

It is not that what she is saying comes as a surprise to him – not at all, he had been expecting this to happen – it is the effect her words has on his gut that reduces his expression to a frown.

"Aren't you going to say something?" She asks when he doesn't respond, and he swallows in an attempt to rid himself of the harsh reply burning on his tongue.

"What do expect me to say, Serena?" He snaps as he gets to his feet and starts to collect the empty food containers. "The Ice Queen is returning to her former kingdom, that wasn't exactly unexpected now, was it?" He continues with his back to her, as he walks over to the trashcan and dumps the trash.

"No, it wasn't." Serena sighs, and he can hear the worry in her voice as well as her disapproval of his choice of words, "We are her family and she really needs us right now, Chuck."

"Blair Waldorf doesn't need – nor _want_ – me in her life." He retorts firmly, "She has made that perfectly clear on more than one occasion, and I, for one, couldn't be happier about it. My meeting starts in five minutes."

She takes the hint and gets to her feet. But instead of walking towards the door she walks up to him, her blue eyes staring him down until he lifts his gaze from the papers in his hand and looks at her.

"Isn't it about time the two of you call a truce?"

"Calling a truce requires being involved in something in the first place, and I am not. I am done with everything related to Blair Waldorf, and I have been for a long time."

"What happened between the two of you anyway?" She ignores his answer and makes her umpteenth attempt to get an explanation out of him.

"You guys were so happy and so completely in love…and then all of a sudden you weren't. Brimstone and ashes; 'hate him with the fire of a thousand suns'; hell's fury, all that." She sighs. "And both of you refuse to talk about it!"

"That is because there is _nothing_ to talk about. I thought that I knew her but apparently I didn't." He snaps, taking a few steps back and away from her. "I know she is your best friend, but she isn't the only one who got…" He doesn't complete the sentence but the silence as he trails off speaks volumes.

"It is not a contest in who hurt who the most, Chuck!" Serena points out sadly as she steps closer to him again, ignoring his attempt to distance himself from her as she picks up on the hurt that he couldn't keep out of his voice.

"Perhaps you are right..." He sneers, "But she won."

As he walks around the desk in search of his phone he can feel Serena following him with her eyes, waiting for him to continue, to explain.

When he can't find the phone he looks back at her, only to find her standing with his phone in her hand.

"I have to leave for my meeting now" He points out calmly, and ignores the frustrated look on her face.

"Alright" She sighs as she walks up to him and hands him his phone, not letting go when he reaches out for it, and once again forcing him to stop and look at her.

"You are coming to the party on Friday, right?" She asks hesitantly, and he knows that her question is both a peace offering and an attempt to change the subject.

"Like you would have anything to celebrate without me there." He drawls haughtily, but just as eager to return to solid ground as she is. "I am Chuck Bass."

"Of course…" She smiles "…How could we possibly celebrate that the company that _I_ work for landed a huge deal - thanks to _me_ - without the great Chuck Bass."

"My point exactly."

"So, is Al going to be your plus one?" She smiles, visibly relieved by the change of conversation.

"She is still in London," He explains, then smirks "I will have to draw lots amongst the napkins and business cards to see who will have the honours of being my date for the night."

"Ew, Chuck, please don't bring a total bimbo like that Geraldine girl from last time." Serena begs, wrinkling her nose in disgust "She was so…blonde."

"Geraldine? Oh, right. She was a napkin." He drawls, as images of blonde hair and revealing cleavage flashes through his mind, "I will have to make sure to choose a business card this time then."

His answer earns him a heartfelt laugh from her in reply as they walk out the door and head in their separate directions.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

It amazes her that the world is still turning, that everything around her is still just the same as a week ago. She has lost her reputation, her job, her boyfriend – her neatly put together, perfect life had been torn down. But even as her life is in shambles, the stewardess on the plane still offers the complimentary glass of champagne, airports are still busy and filled with people, and New York still looks the same.

As the car pulls over and comes to a stop outside of her building, the menacing voice inside her head is still singing its mocking song.

_You are such a failure. _

_You are no one. _

Getting out of the car, she hastily makes her way inside of the building and takes the familiar looking elevator up to the apartment. She is bracing herself for a less than heart warming family reunion as the elevator reaches her floor and she steps out.

The place looks pretty much the same as it did the last time she was there. Apparently not even her old home is affected by the rest of her world crumbling under her feet. She doesn't know if she finds it to be comforting or just offensive.

Entering her old home, she notices some new family photographs on the walls and knows that it is all Cyrus' doing. Eleanor Waldorf has never been the sentimental, photograph-hanging type.

Spotting a photo she took of her mother and him the last time she was in town makes her feel a little less on the edge, and she reaches out to touch it. The glass covering the photograph is cool against her fingers. They look happy, successful, and perfect.

"Ms. Blair!" The sudden interruption of her thoughts causes her to jump as Dorota comes walking hurriedly towards her.

"You are home! Finally, we been so worried." The maid explains, ignoring her usual protocol and embracing her in a surprising hug. "Your mother is out of town, she very sorry, and Mr Rose is still at the office."

She knows that the maid is lying about her mother's feelings, but she doesn't linger on the thought for long when Dorota puts her arms around her. Hot tears are starting to burn in the corners of her eyes, and she quickly forces them away before they get a chance to start falling down her cheeks.

"I am sure she is." She replies briskly, stepping out of the maid's embrace and forcing a look of indifference. "Make sure my bags are taken to my room; I am going to take a shower." She orders, dead set on focusing purely on the practical. "Those cross-Atlantic flights are not what they used to be, believe me."

Pretending not to notice the look on Dorota's face, she quickly makes her way up the stairs and into her old bedroom.

Eleanor and Cyrus have kept her room just as it was the day she left for Yale. She believes that it is mostly Cyrus who is behind that as well. Had it been up to her mother alone, her bedroom would have probably been turned into a home office or a sewing room the moment her Manolos hit Yale soil.

Sinking down on the bed, she takes in the familiar surroundings. The voice inside her head is still present and whispering all the things she doesn't want to think about; reminding her of everything that is wrong in her life. Mocking her.

_This is what you have become._

_You have nothing left. _

All her will power is focused on how to avoid surrendering to old habits; to resist the habit of kneeling down on the floor of her bathroom and emptying herself of everything - menacing voices, overbearing feelings, and the content of her stomach.

_You shouldn't have come back._

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

* * *

_The next chapter won't take long, and that's a promise! It will be up before wednesday!_

_Like I said before - please let me know what you think about all of this _

_Camilla_


	6. Expectations and reunions

_**A/N** Shocked by the speedy update?! ;) _

_I'm on a roll here! Your reviews are extremely motivating and I appreciate each and every one of them beyond words! Thank you so much!_

_"a", thank you for taking the time and letting me know what you think of my story. I'm sorry you feel like I'm not being " very creative" for writing Serena and Nate as a couple. I do it simply because I love the idea of the two of them together, and they will play a big role in this story. On the other hand, writing a C/B story to begin with isn't all that creative either..just saying :)_

_"pincky" thank you so much for reviewing, and for being honest with me! and look! I did keep my promise! ;)_

_and "Maria", thank you so much! I'm glad you like it, and you have some interesting thoughts, I'll give you that ;)_

_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. If I did, there would be no effing mid-season hiatus, believe me!_

_As always - a gazillion thank you's to **Abby** for the beta-ing!!! (and the Dorota-translating. lol)_

* * *

She wakes up from a knock at the door.

"Ms. Blair?" It is Dorota, standing in the doorway. "Breakfast served, and your mother would like to see you before she leaves."

The information has her wanting nothing more than to bury herself underneath the covers and stay there. Facing Eleanor is definitely at the bottom of the list of things she wants to do right now; however, she can still hear herself reply with the words that are expected from her.

"I will be right down."

Once the maid is gone and the door closes again, she gets out of bed with a tired sigh and wraps a silk robe around her frame. Splashing some water on her face and pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she avoids looking at her reflection in the mirror. She should probably get dressed, put some make up on, do her hair – but she simply doesn't care enough to muster up the energy.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

Her mother is seated at the big dining room table, and as she walks in the door Eleanor gets to her feet.

"Mother."

"Blair," Eleanor states and leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek that doesn't come close to touching her skin, then pulls back and examines her thoroughly. "You look tired."

"I am fine." She lies, not going into detail as is expected.

"Alright." Eleanor nods. "I have to get going, I will call Teresa for you - you look like you could use a facial."

And with those words Eleanor is out the door, her heels clicking against the floor and a waft of expensive perfume being left in her wake.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

Her mother's words echo in her head as she sits down at the table. Ignoring her usual manners, she puts her feet up on the chair next to hers and reaches for the grapes that are neatly arranged on a platter in front of her on the table. Knowing that she will have to eat something to avoid getting the third degree from Dorota and being ratted out to her mother, she picks off a grape.

Plopping the grapes in her mouth mechanically, one after the other, she is lost in thought when the elevator dings. She can hear Dorota greet the visitor and say something that has the other person laughing.

She knows that laugh so well, and is just getting to her feet when Serena walks in the door.

"B!" Serena smiles broadly. The young woman is running up to her and throwing herself around her neck in a long-awaited embrace, and for the first time since she got home she can honestly say that it feels good to be back.

"How are you doing?"

"Look at you, S. You look great." She smiles, and the gesture feels so fake she thinks that her face might split right open. But her friend doesn't notice the change of subject or the lack of authenticity in her smile.

"Thank you!" Serena laughs. "I have an important pitch today, but I just wanted to come by and see you. Oh! There's a party tonight; the company is throwing it to celebrate getting this huge deal," Serena rants on as the two of them walk out of the dining room and head for the elevator.

"B, please say that you will be there. I haven't seen you in ages and I would love to get the chance to spend some time with you."

She can easily think of a thousand things she would rather do besides attending some party in celebration of her best friend's glorious career, but she knows that declining the invitation will cause more than a thousand questions to be asked and worried glances to be given. She doesn't know – or want to know, for that matter – if she can handle that.

"I guess I could make an appearance…It's not as if my social calendar is fully booked at the moment," She replies, not able to keep some of the bitterness she feels out of her words.

Her reply brings Serena to a halt, and the blonde looks down at her with a worried look on her face, offering her a comforting smile.

"I would love to have you there, B." Serena repeats, squeezing her arm. "But I don't want you to feel forced to come..."

"Nonsense," she interrupts her friend, "I will be there. But what will Nate say when I come and steal his beloved girlfriend away from him for the evening?"

"That is so great! We are going to have such a good time! And Nate will be thrilled to see you." Serena smiles "I really have to get going now; I will text you the details later." Hugging her tight again, she steps into the elevator.

"We have missed you, you know," she adds before she leaves.

As the doors close on her friend she can finally let out a deep breath, almost laughing at how relieved and exhausted she feels. Wondering how it is that she seems to always get run over by the bulldozer of happiness and success that is her perfect best friend.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

The vast room is dimly lit and there is an orchestra playing that creates a nice background to the buzz of the people gathered inside. The evening is warm and there are big glass doors opened to allow the guests access to a balcony decorated in twinkling lights. Waiters are passing around trays of canapés and champagne, and there is a bar in the far corner of the room.

Serena and Nate are standing side by side near the entrance when she walks in the room, and they spot her almost immediately. Both of their faces light up from the sight of her, and there is a tug in her chest. They look so deliriously happy that it would be nauseating if she didn't love them as much as she does.

Accepting a champagne flute as she walks up to them, she greets the blonde couple with the same fake smile as earlier; she tries her best to not feel as if half the people in the room are staring at her and whispering about her 'outrageous scandal'.

_They all know that you don't belong here_.

"Blair!" Nate calls out, pulling her into a welcoming hug, and she feels at ease for the first time in days. Now that she no longer sees him as her knight in shining armour – with all the drama and insecurities it used to bring to the table – Nate is safety, normalcy and _home_.

"You look great," Nate smiles as they part, and she ignores the voice inside her head that disagrees.

Her black cocktail dress is beautiful; her make-up is perfect and her hair in an extravagant up-do. She knows that what he says is true - that there is nothing wrong or flawed with the picture she portrays – because she has done this so many times. She is always putting on such a sparkling, flawless façade so that no one notices the ugliness that is hiding underneath.

They talk for a little while about Nate's new job, their families and the party, before Nate excuses himself and leaves Serena and her to catch up.

They are busy gushing over Serena's emerald dress when an uneasy feeling creeps up on her, and she can feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Serena doesn't seem to notice that anything is wrong, and as she turns her head and looks straight into an all too familiar pair of eyes - she knows exactly why she is feeling the way that she is.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

* * *

_I love each and every one of you that takes the time to let me know what you think! Your reviews are what keeps me motivated!_

_I can't promise you an update as speedy as this one, but since this one ended with somewhat of a cliffhanger, I'll try my hardest to get the next part up asap! :)_

_Thank's for reading!_

_Camilla_


	7. An interrupted conversation

_**A/N**_

_To all of you lovely and amazing readers who reviewed on the last chapter...THANK YOU!!! Your reviews mean the world to me and are such an amazing motivation!!! :)_

_and thanks Abby for the beta!! (and for laughing at my "hurtful" dialogue just as I did, lol)_

* * *

(_...and as she turns her head and looks straight into an all too familiar pair of eyes - she knows exactly why she is feeling the way that she is_)

He looks great.

There are butterflies doing summersaults inside her chest, and it is making it hard for her to breathe. This is what happens every time she sees his face in the papers – or, like now, comes face to face with him - unprepared or caught off guard. The butterflies flutter just as they always have; but having been drenched in hurt and anger, their fluttering is now nothing but a painful reminder of what they used to be.

Her breath quickens further as Serena calls out for him. He acknowledges his step-sister with a look and walks up to them with a curvaceous brunette on his arm.

His date whispers something – her red painted lips close to his ear - as they walk, earning her a smirk and an encouraging nod in response, before the two of them part and the woman heads in direction of the bar. Her hips that sway seductively in a short, sparkling silver dress as she walks are catching the attention of more than one man in the room; including Chuck.

The swirl in the pit of her stomach that is brought on by his signature smile infuriates her.

How is it that her body doesn't even stand on her side?

He walks up to the two of them - a sudden thickness in the air that even Serena can't escape noticing - as brown eyes lock on brown in an angry staring contest.

"Chuck," Serena greets him nervously, looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Sis," He nods, a little warmth in his eyes that goes instantly cold as they shift back to hers. "I see the Ice Queen has returned to court." He snarls ignoring Serena's disapproving look.

"The standards have clearly deteriorated since my last visit…" She retorts without missing a beat, "…apparently they allow just about _anything_ to attend a function these days."

Her remark earns her Serena's upset glare this time. The blonde is obviously at loss for a solution to her best friend and brother's exchange of insults.

"Your date looks vaguely familiar, where could I have possibly seen her before?" She sneers, curling her lip in distaste. "The Hookers 'R' Us catalogue?"

"Surely you would know. By now you must have an annual spread in a publication like that.

"Chuck!" Serena cries out, appalled by the venom in his voice as he replies. "What is wrong with you?"

"Just telling it like it is." He scoffs, "I will talk to you later, sis. I need to go find my date."

As he is leaving Serena looks over to her worriedly, "Shit. B, are you okay?"

"I am fine, why wouldn't I be?" She replies airily "I couldn't care less about what he has to say."

_You are such a liar. _

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

He finds himself following her with his eyes as she walks out of the room and out onto the balcony. She is beautiful. He can vaguely remember the time when the realization didn't cause him to cringe, but merely made him feel proud to know that she was all his.

Actually, he remembers it like it was yesterday, but he prefers not to dwell on the issue.

There is something fragile about her appearance tonight - underneath the gorgeous dress, the perfect make-up and the angry remarks - she doesn't look well. There is a hurt in her eyes that he could easily detect earlier, before she had the time to put her defence back up.

Knowing that he is partially to blame makes him feel horrible; this combined with that ever present tightness in his chest when she is around seems to render him unable to keep from kicking her even when she is already down.

He tries to justify his words, to justify hurting her like he knows that he did just minutes ago, tries to convince himself that she deserves it.

She _does_ deserve it, after what she did.

But still, is he really the only one that can tell that she is a mess? Leave it up to the blonde duo to _not _notice. They might be rich and successful and all that, but god are they thick sometimes.

"Chuck?!"

A hand on his arm brings him out of his thoughts, and he comes back to reality only to find brown eyes looking up at him.

There is a reason to why he normally goes for blondes. They don't often come with brown eyes.

"Chuck? Are you even listening?" His date asks again, clearly upset by the lack of attention on his part.

"Of course" He says even though it is a total lie. He puts on his most charming womanizer smirk before leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "I need some air. I will be right back."

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

She is standing with her back to him - shivering a little in her black knee length cocktail dress, even though the warm night air is like a blanket around them - and all of a sudden he doesn't know what he is doing there anymore.

"Stalk me much? Just go away, Bass; your presence isn't wanted here." She sneers, but sounds more tired than angry and it unnerves him.

She hasn't turned around but apparently knows that it is him. They used to be like that, unable to not notice each other's presence.

They used to be a lot of things.

"You didn't exactly seem too bothered with my presence last time, or was that not you throwing yourself at me?" He drawls, thinking about their encounter in Paris.

"You make me sick!" She spits back as she turns around, her voice reeking with disgust. "You deceiving, lying excuse of a human being. I didn't ask you to come and gloat! You…"

Suddenly her outburst is interrupted as her eyes seem to fixate on something behind him, inside of the ballroom. The anger on her face disappearing - only to be replaced with a look that causes something inside of him to snap. He quickly turns around to find out what it is that has caught her attention.

The sight that awaits him leaves him dumbfounded, and letting out a single word that sums up everything that is going through his mind at that second. Because right then and there - all he can think of is how this will affect her.

"Fuck," is all he says with a sigh.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

She doesn't know what it was about it that caught her attention in spite of the red veil of anger that was covering her eyes. Maybe it was the sudden silence inside the ballroom or maybe it was the glimpse of a famous gesture.

In the middle of the room - surrounded by all the guests – is Nate and Serena.

Nate is on one knee, looking up at her best friend with such adoration it takes her breath away. Serena is smiling through tears, nodding her head vigorously, clearly at a loss for words.

Her best friend with what used to be her happily ever after - her perfect fairytale.

As Nate gets back up on his feet and the couple kiss, the whole room explodes in applauds and cheers. She can vaguely hear Chuck say something over the ringing noise in her ears and the voice inside her head laughing manically.

_Only perfect people deserve a perfect fairytale._

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

* * *

_The next chapter will probably be up sometime during the week, I have a paper deadline coming up soon (AGAIN! GAAH!) but yeah, first fanfics, then school...right? ;) _

_And if you've been wondering about "Al" you will have some answers then..._

_reviews = my eternal love and gratitude ;)_


	8. Fish & Al

_**A/N** How excited are you guys that the show is FINALLY back on?!?! and am I the only one who spent most of 2x18 wanting to slap Chuck (and HATING Elle!), only to forgive him in the second he said "I'll wait"...?! Aaaw!_

_To the lovelies who reviewed on the last chapter, I adore you all!!! THank you!!! You make writing this amazingly fun and I am so grateful that you take the time to let me know what you think!_

_And thank you Abby!!! I'm so freaking happy you adore Al as much as I do! :D_

_This chapter includes the return of "Chuck the jogger" hahaa. A__nd to you brits reading this, my "cursing/speaking-in-brittish-english" vocabulary comes mostly from a spontaneous lesson by a couple of rugby players from birmingham, at a pub in Cologne...so my apologies if its all effed up ;)_

_...flashback in italics..._

_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing - except for Allison "Al" Bancroft and my imagination! ;)_

* * *

It is Monday morning and he is back in his office. Even though he spent his Saturday with Nate - getting his friend royally drunk in celebration of his up-coming nuptials - and distracted himself with whatever he could possibly think of during the rest of the weekend, the image of her devastated face seems to be permanently etched to his memory.

He was in the front row to observe as she pulled herself together, somehow managing to smile and congratulate the beaming and ecstatic Serena, before hastily saying her goodbyes and leaving the party.

And just as earlier, he had been the only one who seemed to notice the heartbreak in her eyes.

Sometimes it is just fucking impossible to hate her.

It's a good thing he is as stubborn as he is.

"Mr. Bass? Miss Bancroft is here to see you." His secretary's voice informs him over the intercom, interrupting his thoughts.

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

_He arrived in the classroom just before the professor closed the doors, walking in and taking a seat by the large, round table. Then he leaned back in his chair and prepared himself for an hour and a half of pure boredom. _

_The professor quickly began to introduce himself, and he might have zoned out a little after that. The next thing he knew, the class was handed out assignments to prepare for the first meeting in their learning teams._

"_You will work on this in pairs of two." The professor explained "…and you will be divided according to your last name."_

_In that moment he began to wish he hadn't gone to class in the first place. He rarely did to be honest; Blair was on his case about it quite a lot. She loved college in every way - once a grade A-student always a grade A-student - he assumed. He on the other hand, not so much._

"_Bancroft, Bass…" The professor read from his list, "…Congratulations. Denton, George – you are next…"_

_Upon hearing his name he quickly scanned the people seated at the table, and met the gaze of a pair of blue – almost violet – eyes belonging to a girl with a mane of red hair that somehow reminded him of Serena._

_As soon as the class was over he got to his feet. The majority of the students began pairing up to discuss their assignments as he walked out of the classroom. He could hear footsteps behind him but blatantly ignored the voice calling out for him._

"_Come on mate, are you deaf?"_

_The British accent surprised him and he turned around to find out who it belonged to - only to find the redhead from earlier looking at him from under furrowed brows. _

"_I prefer to look at it as selective hearing." He smirked, walking away from her._

"_So I will see you Saturday then?" She ignored his brush-off and followed him out of the building, "We should probably get started right away - my roommate told me the professor doesn't really give away grades."_

"_Saturday is not a good day for me…"_

"_Sunday then." She persisted, keeping up her pace next to him, and rearranging her hold of her book bag._

"_Yeah sure." He snorted as he walked down the front steps of the building and headed for his apartment. _

_Stopping in his steps when she kept following him, he turned to look at her, giving her a well-practiced example of his most charming, womanizer smirk._

"_Look, this whole working-in-pairs-grade-a-student thing isn't really my forte." He drawled, tilting his head to the side and giving her a smarmy look, "But I'm sure we could work something out."_

_She looked at him in disbelief for a few seconds, then her whole face moulded into an expression of complete amusement._

"_Are you kidding me mate?" The redhead laughed, "Does pulling stunts like that one actually work for you? That whole 'Oh you want me so bad, don't you baby'-smirk?" _

_She broke out laughing again, then tried to regain her composure but failed miserably. _

"_It does, doesn't it? Consider me immune, darling, and we will get along just fine," she finished._

_She tilted her head to the side and gave him a patient look. _

_And for the first time in a long time – or ever - he couldn't immediately think of a witty, superior remark, but instead just walked away._

_He really regretted attending that class. _

_*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*_

_He was out jogging around campus later that day, lost in his own world, when all of a sudden there was someone running alongside him. _

_As he looked over to give the person a patented fuck-the-hell-off-glare, he was met by the same violet eyes. The same red mane of hair pulled back into a ponytail and bouncing merrily as she jogged next to him._

"_Stalking is illegal on this side of the pond." _

"_Really? I had no idea" She replied airily with a wink of her eye, "Should I contact the authorities then, and tell them about the weird guy matching his socks with his t-shirt that ran up to me as I was out for my daily run?" _

_He merely huffed in response and increased his speed, getting more than a little annoyed when all she did was flick her ponytail over her shoulder and easily followed him._

"_I have a proposition for you, Mr. 'I am Chuck Bass and too great for words'," She said, and it annoyed him beyond measures that she wasn't even slightly out of breath. _

"_Let's race for it…first one back to the library. If I win, it is ten o'clock on Saturday…"_

"…_If I win, you find your company on Saturday elsewhere, and far away from me." He agreed, pleased with his up-coming victory._

"_It is a deal." She smiled, and the two of them took off. _

_*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*_

"_You can't always get your way, Big Fish" She pointed out minutes later, and failed miserably in hiding her smug grin. "I am Allison by the way."_

_He simply glared at her from where he was standing, leaning against the brick building and panting heavily._

"_See you Saturday then," She sighed contently, walking away after a final Cheshire grin in his direction, leaving him breathless and fuming. _

_*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*_

_He sauntered into the library at ten fifteen on Saturday morning and made his way to the study area, feeling more than a little pleased with himself despite his kindergarten tactics. _

_He was showing up - that was more than he had originally planned - and that obnoxious, machine of a woman had better settle for that, he thought to himself as he surveyed the area looking for her._

_She wasn't there._

_Ten minutes later he was seething, thinking that he is Chuck-fucking-Bass; and there is no way he is spending a Saturday morning waiting in a library. Chuck Bass doesn't wait around for anyone, end of story. _

_He was seconds from leaving when she walked through the door, making her way over to where he was standing, dressed in a pair of old Levis and a Harvard sweatshirt._

"_Sorry I'm late, Fish" She smiled offering him a take out cup, and he could tell that she wasn't the least bit sorry, "Latte?"_

"_Fish?" He growled, shooting her an annoyed glare, "Do you have a liking for sea creatures that I should be aware of?" _

"_No, I just enjoy ruffling your feathers a bit."_

"_Moving on to poultry now, huh? Is indecisiveness a trait your people pride themselves on?" He snarled, but couldn't keep a smirk from forming on his lips as she broke out laughing. _

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

Before he has the chance to respond to his secretary's announcement, the glass door to his office swings open and in walks the bubbly, witty redhead that somewhere along the way turned into a friend.

Even though the thought of "Chuck Bass" being just friends with a girl doesn't sound quite right – it amazed him more than anyone - that is what they have become. It could be that she actually had turned out to be completely and utterly immune to his charms, he really doesn't care. She is just "Al" to him, right up there with Nate and Serena.

"Patience is a virtue, you know" He smirks nonchalantly, but gets to his feet and walks up to meet her. "Do you not remember what you walked in on a while back?"

"Oh God, how could I possibly forget?" Al groans in mock horror, "That experience alone will be the subject of all my therapy hours for the rest of the year."

Her playful response instantly lightens his mood.

"Good to see you, Al." He says – kissing her on the cheek - because it is.

"You too, Fish." She winks, then gives a pleased grin at the face he makes in reaction to the nickname. "Ready for lunch?"

"I'm in the mood for Italian. That place, you know which one I am talking about…"

"Honestly mate? The only reason you want to go there is because of that skanky waitress that always offers to help you with your napkin..."

"She is _very_ service minded, I'll give you that." He smirks, and she rolls her eyes despondently, linking her arm with his as they exit the office.

"Now, what is the latest news?" She asks him after he has told the secretary that he is leaving.

"Blair is back in town."

The words escape his mouth before he knows it, and Al shoots him a look with eyes wide in surprise.

"Blair as in _Blair_? Your Blair?

"She is not 'my Blair'" He points out firmly. "Yes. _That_ Blair."

"Wow" Al lets out, pushing the button of the elevator. "And you are okay with that?"

"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" He replies, and as he catches her doubtfully cocked eyebrow he continues. "I am fine; I don't care about her. She is ancient history."

"I was there remember?" She reminds him, as the elevator arrives, "Picking up the pieces…or empty bottles in your case."

"Al" The tone of his voice is a warning that tells her to drop it, and she takes the hint.

"Alright. You are fine, you don't care, and she is ancient history." Al repeats mechanically in a joking tone, patting his arm and laughing as he pulls away from her with a frown on his face. "…whatever helps you sleep at night. But maybe the next time someone asks you if you are okay with it – two 'why-wouldn't-I-be's are enough…"

He scowls, but she just smiles at his reaction and squeezes his arm reassuringly. And he knows that she does so to let him know she is only messing with him - that she is on his side. Then the mischievous spark returns to her violet eyes.

"Oh, it is _so_ good to be back." She sighs contently, "You must have missed me _terribly_, Fish."

He looks back at her with the same spark in his eyes and a smirk forming on his lips.

"You know if I make some calls, I could probably have you on the Bass jet back to London within the hour..."

*¨*¨*¨*¨*¨*

* * *

_Review?! :)_


	9. An unexpected phone call

_**A/N** So, first I spent all of yesterday writing a whole new fic (that I'm now shamelessly advertizing. haha)...then I update this one today...lets just say that my uni paper is not getting the attention it should be getting..haha_

_Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed on the last chapter!!! You guys are amazing, and your reviews mean the world to me! _

_I have the best beta ever - Abby - you should read her story! its amazing!_

_**Disclaimer:** It hurts to admit it...but I don't own Gossip Girl_

_This is a fairly short one...but I would love to know what you think of it! your reviews are what keeps me motivated and they are such an amazing inspiration!_

* * *

His phone – buzzing wildly and casting a pale glow in the dark room from where it is lying on the bedside table – is what wakes him up. He briefly considers letting the call go straight to voicemail, but changes his mind and pushes the green button.

He growls something incomprehensible into the receiver, as he swings his feet over the edge of the bed. Then rests his elbows on his knees and rubs his face with his hand to clear his head.

There is nothing but silence on the other end of the line at first, then a voice cuts through the silence just as he is about to hang up.

"Do you think it could have been us?"

The voice sounds so defeated and broken - the question a mere whisper – that he can't tell who it is at first. Then it hits him, and suddenly he is wide awake.

Blair. Calling him.

"What?" He blurts out, the shock draining his voice of the usual contempt or indifference. "Blair?"

"Do you think it could have been us – you and me – on that dance floor? Looking all happy and destined for one another…" She repeats once more, and he can tell that she has been drinking, probably a lot.

"Are you drunk?" He asks to buy himself some time, caught in an emotional rollercoaster. All the emotions that he usually doesn't allow to surface having been set free from the surprise and flowing without restraint inside of him.

"I don't get drunk…" She points out with a bit of humour in her voice, using a phrase of hers that he knows well, that he has heard on many occasions, "...I drink."

Then she's suddenly serious again.

"Well, do you?"

Does he? Her words are racing through his mind, pulsating through his entire being.

The answer he knows as the truth is nothing but a gut wrenching reminder of everything they could have been.

He could lie. He probably _should_ lie to spare them both the trip down memory lane - to spare _himself_ the walk back to reality.

But he is so sick and tired of hating her in that moment – when she sounds so utterly defeated and heartbroken – that he can't do anything but tell her the truth.

"Yes." He replies in a weary sigh, resting his forehead in the palm of his hand, "Yeah I think that could have been us."

"Me too…" She whispers and he knows that she is crying. And for the first time in a long time, knowing that she is hurting breaks his heart.

"I still hate you, you know…" She points out after a moment's silence, her tone of voice firmer now, "…this doesn't change anything. Between us I mean."

"I wasn't holding my breath, I assure you." He replies, forcing the steel back into his voice.

Closing the door to the past where the two of them was inevitable and destined for forever. Destined for the grand proposal in the magnificent ball room, the beautiful ring from

Tiffany's and the tears of happiness.

"Good…" She replies in a soft voice, and he can hear her draw a ragged breath before repeating again, the steel also back in her voice, "That is good."

And with a click the line drops dead, leaving him alone in the dark bedroom with that aching feeling in his chest.

You hate her, he reminds himself as he gets back under the covers, knowing there is no way he will be going back to sleep anytime soon.

You hate her.

You _need_ to hate her.

* * *

_The next chapter is on its way, I'm hoping to update sometime during the week (after finishing that damn paper for uni..)_

_Thanks for reading! :)_

_Camilla_


	10. Visitors

_He was sleeping – a deep, dreamless slumber brought on by exhaustion – when suddenly he was woken up by what literally sounded like someone trying to turn his front door into a pile of matchsticks. Letting out a growl,__he buried his head under the pillow and willed the idiot responsible for this monstrosity of a wake-up call to fuck off and die._

_When the pounding continued,__he rolled out of bed and made his way to the door, cursing fierily the whole way there._

"_What?" He hissed as he pulled the door open._

_The sight awaiting him caused a tired groan to escape his lips._

"_Fish!" Al shrieked happily, throwing her arms around his neck and causing them to stumble backwards and into the apartment. "You're back! And awake!"_

"_I am now" He replied grimly as he gently peeled her off of him. "For fuck's sake Al, do you have any idea what time it is?"_

"_Late?" She questioned breezily, staring over at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes before breaking out in a spontaneous pirouette._

"_I have had the most marvellous evening!" She declared and seconds later ended up in a heap on the floor._

"_You are drunk." He stated, offering his hands to her and pulling her back up to her feet. He let out an indignant sigh when she hugged his arm affectionately, beaming up at him._

"_That is a statement I cannot deny…" She replied, articulating every syllable carefully._

"_Some guy," she continued, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she mentioned the poor man she had most likely left broken-hearted, "Had the nerve to imply that he would be able to drink __**me **__under the table!"_

_Her appalled face caused him to snicker and she shot him an annoyed glare from under furrowed brows._

"_He had the audacity to utter such a __**blasphemy**__, and I simply had to prove him wrong." She drawled haughtily, "But it took its toll on yours truly…which is why I need coffee."_

"_Who won then?" He smirked, cocking an eyebrow at her drunken state. This question earned him another offended glare._

"_I did, of course!" She frowned, "Now where is my coffee?"_

"_You have a coffee maker in your apartment." He sighed, feeling the hope of getting back to sleep anytime soon quickly evaporate._

"_But you have that __**lovely **__little machine…" She said and smiled as they made their way over to the kitchen area, referring to his espresso machine._

_All hope definitely gone in that second, he realized that he should probably put something more on than the pyjama bottoms he was currently sporting._

"_I will be right back"_

_He went back inside his bedroom and pulled a t-shirt over his head. As he put his arms through the sleeves of the shirt, his eyes fell on the headband adorning his bedpost._

_Blair's headband._

_He had laughed when she left it there, asking her if she was staking claim. She had replied with a 'I just don't want you to miss me too much, Bass' and a wink of her eye, and he hadn't said anything because he was hoping it really might help._

_Blair. She told him she would come by. Tomorrow._

_Now there was only a few hours left before he would get to see her again, get to explain – apologize – make everything right. A touch of something he couldn't quite identify in the pit of his stomach. Everything would work out. If she turned out to be pregnant, that would be okay - more than okay - there is nothing the two of them can't handle together. He just needs to apologize for being such a god damn idiot, freaking out like he did._

_His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by what sounded like a minor explosion, coming from the kitchen. As he came running into the room he found Al on the floor - soaking wet - and laughing so hard there were tears running down her face. There was water on the floor too, and tiny piles of coffee grains on the counter, the floor, her shirt._

"_Are you out of your mind?" He snapped worriedly, "What the fuck are you doing?"_

"_Making coffee…"Al managed to blurt out in between fits of laughter._

"_And making coffee made you end up soaking wet on my floor how exactly?" He retorted with an amused smirk._

"_I was…you know…" Al explained, gasping for air and struggling to work herself back into an upright position, "…and then; __**boom**__!" She mimicked an explosion with her hands, and the gesture caused her to once again break down laughing._

_He stood there looking at her for a second or two before he got moving._

"_Alright, come on." He sighed, pulling her off the floor for the second time in less than twenty minutes. "Dry clothes, coffee, and then you are going back to your place."_

"_Are you making me coffee?" Al asked in a hopeful tone, as she got back up on her feet._

"_I am making you coffee." He repeated patiently, knowing there were very few people on the planet that he wouldn't have kicked out ages ago and a little taken aback about the fact that she was becoming one of them so fast. He found her an old pair of pyjamas in his dresser and quickly returned to the kitchen to prevent another mishap._

"_Here."_

"_Ah! Fish, you are a darling!" Al beamed, and then resolutely pulled her soaked shirt over her head._

"_Do you mind!" He hissed, turning his back to her semi-clad form, and in the same time thinking that that might be the first time those words have ever escaped his lips in a situation such as this one._

_But honestly, his 'turn that one-piece into a no-piece'-days were long gone before tonight. As long as he wasn't referring to Blair._

_Al merely chuckled at his shocked outburst, and he could hear her get out of her jeans._

"_All covered up." She informed him moments later._

"_Good." He smirked as he turned around, "Now sit down," He motioned to the sofa in the other end of the room, "I don't want to end up soaked and covered in coffee grains too."_

_Sending him a last glare in mock offence she did as she was told, and he got to work making them their coffee._

_As he walked across the room moments later, mugs in hand, he called out for her but she didn't respond. Reaching the sofa he found her curled up as a cat - fast asleep. Resisting the temptation to throw a pillow at her, he simply decided to follow her example and returned to bed._

* * *

"_You can't be serious, mate!" The complaining voice was barely audible, her mouth forming the words hidden deep in a cushion. "I am __**dying **__here, Fish!"_

"_You are British, you will live." He snickered, more than pleased with his little payback. "I made you coffee…Now get the hell out, will you?"_

"_You made coffee?" Al's voice was back to hopeful as she lifted her head from the cushion and shot him an expectant look._

"_I did, even though you don't deserve it." He smirked, shoving her with his foot to persuade her to sit up._

"_Alright, alright. I am leaving, jeez." She groaned, reaching out for the coffee mug and clutching her forehead in her other hand. "What big plans do you have for today that causes you to throw me to the curb at this __**ungodly **__hour?"_

"_Blair is coming." He told her as they made their way to the door._

"_She is?" Al's face lit up, "Do I get to meet the mysterious wonder that is Blair Waldorf this time around?"_

"_This might be your lucky day."_

"_I might start believing that she is nothing but an imaginary friend, unless I get some proof of her existence soon." She winked, and leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Fish"_

"_Stay away from heavy machinery now, will you?" He called out after her, "I will be running out of clothes if you keep this up."_

_His request earned him a raise of her mug in salute, and a bubbling laugh before she disappeared around the corner._

_The knock on his door a while later surprised him at first, but as he walked up to the door and noticed Al's shirt on the armrest of the sofa he wasn't confused any longer._

"_Realized that you forgot something?" He smirked as he opened the door._

_He barely had time to react - the butterflies just beginning a joyous dance - before he could feel the sharp sting of her hand connecting with his cheek._

"_You make me sick!" She spat, and the darkness in her eyes startled him. Apologies and__explanations are dying in his throat and leaving a bitter aftertaste._

"_Blair…" He began, but she cut him off and pushed him in the chest with both hands, causing him to stumble backwards into the apartment._

"_Worthless, deceiving, lying son of a bitch!" She spat, emphasizing each word with a punch to his chest. "You are just the same, untrustworthy ass that you used to be!"_

_No, you're not. The words echoed in his mind but somehow he couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice and repeat them out loud._

"_Please, Blair, would you let me explain?" He reached out, putting his hand on her arm. He barely made contact with her skin before she shrugged away and threw herself out of reach._

"_No!" She hissed, "You don't get to do anything. I can't believe you would __**do that **__to me!"_

_For the first time since she stormed through his door, her anger seemed to dissolve a little, and her features softened, revealing some of the pain brewing underneath._

"_I'm sorry…" He continued, walking the short distance up to where she was standing and reaching out for her hand again._

"_No!" She cried out again, and her other hand struck against his cheek again, leaving a stinging mark on his skin. The adrenaline pumping through his veins__almost kept him from feeling at all._

_He desperately tried to get his head around how his stupid mistake had turned into this, and somehow felt as if he was watching a terrible accident happening without being able to do anything to stop it._

_Not that that would keep him from trying. Raising his arms in defeat, he backed away thinking she might need some space to cool down._

"_Blair?"_

"_Shut up!" She yelled, clutching her head in her hands and shooting him a frustrated look.__"Just…don't!"_

_Seconds laterhe could see the expressionless face belonging to her ice queen mask distort her features, and watching her shut off sent chills down his spine._

"_I guess I only have myself to blame." She stated, brushing some invisible piece of dust off the lapel of her coat._

"_Thinking that you had changed, that you…" She paused, looking away temporarily, and he could see the muscles of her jaw working as she swallowed hard._

"…_well obviously I was wrong." She continued moments later, and he didn't know what to say to shake the vacant look out of her eyes._

"_You are just like him."_

_No, I am not. The defiant voice of a little boy lost long ago, yelled from the back of his mind. I am nothing like him._

_It hurt. Hearing those words from her hurt. More than anything because she was the one person who knew just how much - the one person who knew everything, who fully knew him._

_She knew and still told him that, compared him to __**him**__._

"_You know what…" She spat, the fire returning to her voice once again, "…you are worse! He didn't accuse your mom of cheating! At least he was happy about the __prospect of having you in his life!"_

_She paused again, and he could tell that she was gathering energy to deliver her final blow, and he braced himself for what was undoubtedly to come._

"_He was happy…" She repeated, and they both simultaneously looked over to the old, battered picture frame standing on a shelf in the bookshelf. When their eyes met again he sucked in a breath and held it in._

"…_and look where that got him."_

_You killed her. She didn't say that but he could hear the words echoing between them. For a second he thought that she had slapped him again, but the distance between them ruled that out. Still there was a stinging sensation reverberating through every fibre of his body._

_They stood in silence - facing each other but neither of them seeing the person in front of them. She was the first one to break from the daze, and ran towards the door._

_She was out the door within seconds and the sound of the door being slammed shut behind her was what brought him out of his thoughts._

"_Blair!" He yelled out, following after her out into the corridor. Still not prepared to give up – far from it._

_She had almost reached the elevator before he caught up with her._

"_Blair!" He called out again, and reached out for her, ignoring the risk of receiving yet another slap in the face. "What about…"_

"_Let go of me!" She snapped, as she spun around and faced him, "I don't want to hear any of your excuses!"_

"_But what about…"_

"_Like I would ever __**allow **__myself to get pregnant with your child." She sneered, "There is no baby…just like there is no us. I am done."_

_Her words momentarily drained him off the last ounces of fight power, and once again he watched her as she walked away._

_Only this time he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that it might truly be the last time that she did._

* * *

_tbc_


	11. Preparations

She carefully pulls up the zipper of the purple, strapless Eleanor Waldorf original and scrutinizes herself in the mirror. Deciding that she actually doesn't look half bad, she exits the downstairs bathroom and steps out into the living room where her mother is waiting for her.

"Turn around" Eleanor orders and she walks and then spins in front of her, as her mother eyes her up and down with a crease on her forehead.

"Well?" Normally she wouldn't rush her mother's verdict, but her head is pounding from last night's celebration, and she doesn't want to spend one more minute playing dress up in front of Eleanor. All she wants to do is to go back to bed and nurse her massive hangover.

That, and try to forget all about a certain humiliating phone call.

"I think you should try on the blue one." Her mother states, motioning towards the navy dress with a square neckline and tulip shaped skirt that is laid down on the armrest of the sofa. "It will look more slimming on you."

_You __look disgusting._

"Much better" Eleanor nods as she returns in the navy dress moments later. "You will wear that one to the function tonight. I need you to look your very best. It is the first collaboration like this that I have agreed on, and everything needs to be perfect."

_Then why did she tell you to be there?_

She is about to respond when the elevator dings, and Serena steps out in, hiding behind huge, dark sunglasses.

She can easily tell that Serena is feeling about as good this morning as she is, which isn't that strange considering the many celebratory cocktails the bride-to-be downed last night.

That was last night. Before she returned home – by herself - and in a pathetic, delusional moment decided to call _him. _Honestly, what kind of masochist is she?

"Hey B; Mrs. Rose" Serena greets the two of them. "Wow, Blair you look great! Is that dress for tonight?"

"Yes." Her mother answers in her place, smiling at her best friend, "Good to see you Serena, dear."

"You too, Eleanor. Are you ready?" Serena smiles back, then turning her attention to her, "Brunch and then Bergdorf's?"

"Oh, are the two of you going shopping?"

Eleanor interrupts her once again, looking over to Serena curiously as her friend shoots her what must be an apologetic glance from behind her sunglasses.

"Yeah," Serena nods. "I need a dress for tonight. I haven't had any time to go shopping this week, and Blair offered to help me find something to wear."

"I guess you must have been terribly busy with your work, and then with the engagement of course…" Eleanor agrees, shooting her a telling look, before returning her attention to Serena,

"…I do have a dress that would look gorgeous on you…" Her mother suggests, picking up a golden dress the older Waldorf hadn't even considered to have _her_ try on – deeming the dress too 'strong' for her - and showing it to Serena.

"It looks amazing," Serena agrees, "You would look great in that one too B."

"Blair will wear the one that she has on." Eleanor intervenes, "Now try this one; you will look absolutely amazing."

_She always does, doesn't she?_

* * *

"Please tell me you feel as bad as I do" Serena groans as they sit down at their table for brunch, and accept the offered menus from the waiter.

"You are a socialite, S" She points out teasingly, knowing how her friend feels about the title, "Surely being able to handle your cosmos is in your DNA?"

"Funny," Serena replies sarcastically, running a hand through her blonde locks. "Days like this just make me feel old. I never used to get hangovers back in the day…"

"Isn't that a comment you should save for _after_ your first Botox injection, at least?" She smiles and Serena breaks out laughing, only to stop as soon as she begins to clutch her head in her hands.

Their waiter arrives and they place their orders. As the man walks away, Serena looks over to her with an expression on her face that tells her the blonde has something on her mind. Something she probably won't like hearing.

"How do you feel about tonight?" Serena asks tentatively, "…I mean, since Chuck will be there…The two of you didn't exactly get along last time…"

Serena's words are like a bucket of cold water, instantly washing away all remaining traces of her hangover and replacing it with complete and utter shock.

"What?" Her voice is not far from turning into a shriek. "He is coming tonight? Why? What business does he have attending _my_ mother's party?"

"They _are_ celebrating a collaboration between Bass Industries and your mother's company…" Serena replies slowly, looking at her like she has lost her mind or is just too hung-over to understand being spoken to in normal velocity, "…he wouldn't miss this."

When all she does is look back at her in confusion, her best friend gasps in disbelief, "Oh my God B, you didn't know?"

"This isn't the reaction I tend to save for non-surprising information," She replies sarcastically, doing her best to ignore the streaks of panic rushing through her insides. "So he will be there; that is just _perfect_."

"It is really sad to see the two of you like this Blair," Serena admits, and she knows that her friend is still desperate to understand what went down between the two of them. "You guys seemed to be destined for each other."

The memory of last night's drunken phone call springs back to her mind, and she can barely keep from visibly cringing at the thought. She is deftly ignoring the tiny stings of hurt that are mixing with the panic in the pit of her stomach.

"And when I was fifteen, I thought that I would marry Nate Archibald and the two of us would live happily ever after." She reminds Serena with a sardonic smirk; forcing indifference into her voice, "Things change, S. People change."

He changed things. Everything is his fault.

_Liar._

* * *

**From: Serena**

**To: Chuck**

**U better be nice to her tonight.**

**From: Chuck**

**To: Serena**

**I have no idea who U R talking about.**

**From: Serena**

**To: Chuck**

**Don't be an ass. U know who!**

**From: Chuck**

**To: Serena**

**Making promises****isn't really my thing.**

**From: Serena**

**To: Chuck**

**CHUCK!**

* * *

"Al," He greets her as she answers his call. "Did you get my message?"

"_No_! You blind twat! That was _onside_!"

Wincing, he pulls the phone back from his ear and waits until he can tell that her exasperated tirade is coming to an end.

"Sorry Fish," She apologizes seconds later, "It is the semi-finals of the FA cup."

"I have no idea what you just said," He points out smirking. "About tonight…"

"Yes! That's more like it!" Al cheers, once again talking to the television, and he lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Should I just call you back later?" He asks dryly, knowing that it is fucking impossible to have a proper conversation with her in situations like this, "When you are not busy watching a bunch of sweaty thugs running around in the rain?"

"Don't offend my team, Fish," Al replies with humour in her voice. "There is no reason for you to be jealous; you know you are my favourite thug. And I _will_ be there tonight, wouldn't miss it."

"Pick you up at eight?"

"You know what, I have some things to take care of; I will meet you there." She replies, then back to yelling, "_Whaaat_? A free kick?"

"Bye Al," He sighs, knowing he is fighting a battle he is bound to lose.

"…you _wanker_! You shouldn't be allowed within miles of a football field!"

* * *

_tbc_


	12. One drink is not enough

_**Disclaimer:**__Al is mine, all mine...but Gossip Girl isn't._

* * *

He doesn't like to admit it, but, as the car pulls over and stops outside the Palace, he wishes that Al could have been there next to him in the limo; if not for any other reason than to distract him from his ranting mind.

Because no matter how hard he tries - or how many sips he takes from the crystal tumbler in his hand - he can't rid himself of the uneasy feeling in his gut. The words from that late night phone call are echoing in his mind like a broken record.

_Do you think it could have been us…I still hate you…_

_Do you think it could have been us…_

_I still hate you…_

As he enters the familiar ballroom inside the Palace, he subconsciously scans the room to make sure that everything is in order and looking its very best. Pleased with the turn out and the state of the room, he greets some of the board members that are present with a nod as he accepts a champagne flute from one of the waiters.

Taking a gulp of the drink that has now replaced the tumbler from his limo - but is just as useless in assisting him on his mission to relax - he examines the look of the waiters moving around the room.

All of them are dressed in the new uniforms designed by Eleanor Waldorf Designs. The clean cut, classy-looking uniforms are part of the new line that includes the staff of all the hotels owned by the company carrying his name.

* * *

She is fully aware that her well-practiced façade is neatly in place and hiding her inner chaos, but it doesn't ease the feeling of doom as she descends the stairs under unyielding scrutiny from her mother.

"Mother" She greets through gritted teeth, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle on the navy dress.

"That will do," Eleanor declares. "Now let's go, we are running late."

They ride together in silence. She can tell that her mother is more nervous than she is willing to let on, and since her own state of mind isn't really the perfect example of calm and collected, she doesn't offer any comforting or reassuring words.

Some photographers are stationed outside the Palace to document the event, and as they get out of the car the flashes of their cameras is a nauseating reminder of a morning not long ago in Paris. The memory combined with the flashing lights is making her feel light-headed, and she has to force herself not to reach out and grab hold of her mother's arm as they walk.

"I have some things to attend to," Eleanor explains as they enter the ballroom, looking around the room with the same scrutinizing expression on her face as earlier. Daughters, ballrooms, designs – they are all granted the same inspecting look.

"Please don't cause any kind of…scene," she continues absentmindedly, greeting some of the guests with a nod and a smile. "The last thing I need right now is another scandal connected to the Waldorf name."

As her mother walks away, she lets out a shuddering breath before accepting a glass of champagne from one of the waiters, and downing it within seconds. She ignores the disapproving looks that are coming from two women who are watching her from a few feet away. She recognizes them as acquaintances of her mother's.

As she places the now empty champagne flute back on a tray carried by a waiter passing by, she shoots them a defying glare, and does her best to transfer the rebellious feeling to her gut.

Scanning the room for Serena, she spots _him_ standing on the other side of the vast area, in the middle of a conversation with some rich-looking men that she assumes are business associates of his.

He hasn't noticed her and she is more than grateful not to have his eyes on her as well. The grateful feeling is not including the insight that he still happens to be the most attractive guy she has ever met. There is no one on the face of the planet that can make a simple, black tux look as good as he does. Damn him and that perfect face of his.

_Yeah, I think that could have been us…_

_Yeah, I think that could have been us…_

Forcing the memories of a voice in total lack of venom and hate out of her mind, she helps herself to another drink.

* * *

He can feel her eyes on him – burning into the back of his head – and he has to force himself not to turn around and look at her, reminding himself that he doesn't _want_ to.

He somehow manages to keep up the incredibly boring conversation he is having with two of his newest investors – both of them so eager to make a good impression that it is bordering on comical.

When one of them finally stops ranting – presumably to catch a breath or something equally necessary – he quickly excuses himself and heads for the bar.

He needs another drink.

* * *

She takes her time in the restroom, doing her very best to convince herself that she is not technically _hiding ,_but failing miserably. She is preparing to leave the bathroom stall when she can suddenly hear the voices of the two women from earlier.

"Such a scandal…" One of the women opens up the conversation.

"Indeed," the other one agrees. "I must say, I am truly amazed that Eleanor allows her to attend so soon after that horrible _incident_…"

"You read my mind." The first woman replies and she can hear the sound of a compact being closed. "Just look at her; shouldn't she be locked up at the Ostroff Centre?"

"High as a kite." The second woman agrees, "It is nothing short of a disgrace…"

Stepping out of the stall, she slams the door open - the loud noise causing both women to jump. In their favour they barely flinch when they recognize her, and realize that she has heard every word.

"Ladies" She nods condescendingly, and gives them a taste of her very best Ice Queen death-glare, "I guess that the Botox injections have yet to sink deep enough to have any affect on your vocal chords. That really is such a shame."

Brushing past them, she holds her head up high and forces herself to breathe, cursing the heavens for not knowing where to run and hide next - now that her temporary sanctuary has been infiltrated.

Walking out of the room, she hastily turns the corner to sneak past the ballroom and out to the terrace, only to nearly fall over as she bumps right into a solid wall of expensive fabric.

As she stumbles backwards, trying to regain her balance, a hand closes around her wrist to steady her.

"Thank you." She offers this quietly, but as she looks up at her unidentified saviour she instantly regrets her words.

He is exiting the ballroom - lost in thought - when someone walks right into him and knocks what little air he has left in his lungs right out of him.

As the person stumbles he reacts instinctively – reaching out and catching hold of a slender wrist. Then he instantly regrets it as he realizes who it is that has crashed into him.

She apologizes, but as she looks up at him, he can tell that she is also currently regretting the last seconds of her evening.

"Planning on making a habit out of jumping me every chance you get?" He sneers, but then notices the look in her eyes and the tremor of her lip.

The discovery sends a tidal wave of unwanted memories flowing. Memories that once again washes away all the venom from his voice and all the contempt from his eyes.

"What is wrong?"

She doesn't reply but instead immediately tries to free herself from his grip - pressing her lips together so tightly that they become nothing but a thin, pale line - in an effort to hide any trace of weakness.

He lets go of her wrist this time - snatching his hand away as if he has been burned – and she storms off.

When the door to the restroom swings open one more time, he turns around to see who it is as she disappears out of sight. The looks on the faces of the women exiting through the door tell him all he needs to know about why she was so upset.

He recognizes both of them - and one of them in particular, being that she is the wife of one of the men currently spending the evening sucking up to him in every way possible.

"Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Madison."

"Mr. Bass." The woman married to his investor greets him nervously as the two women begin to walk away.

"Mrs. Madison!" He calls out after them, and they both turn around in surprise.

"Yes?"

"If you would like your husband to be able to pay for your rehab visit the next time – and I am _sure_ there will be a next time – I strongly recommend that you stay the _hell_ away from Ms. Waldorf." He spits, then instantly returns to a professionally polite tone of voice that is reeking with sarcasm, as he continues. "Have a _great_ evening."

* * *

"There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you!"

"I needed some air," she explains, running her hands up and down her arms to warm herself as she turns around to face her best friend.

She can tell that her indifferent mask isn't very convincing when Serena's expression changes from a smiling one to one of concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," she attempts a lie, but knows that the tremor in her voice gives her away. "Just had a run-in with some of my mother's so-called 'friends'…but other than that I am just peachy."

"I am so sorry, B." Serena sighs. "Sure that's it though? Or are you still thinking about Philippe?"

Serena's question makes her realize that she really hasn't thought about Philippe in a long time. Not since that incident in his apartment that landed her in jail. She doesn't care about him, and she most certainly doesn't _miss_ him.

"No," she replies firmly, but Serena looks at her dubiously, eyes filled with doubt.

"I think I was more into the _idea_ of him, than _him_…" She tries to explain, and realizes as she does just how true it really is. "I am just so sick of never being enough!"

"What?" Serena blurts out in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? You are more than enough, Blair. Any guy should be so lucky as to have you! That Philippe guy is nothing but a brain-dead, coke-dealing asshole, do you understand?"

She smiles dryly at her friend's defensive rant. "I am _never_ enough," she repeats. "Maybe I am just destined to be the betrayed girlfriend..."

And no matter how many times she has lingered on the same thought, speaking it out loud for the first time hurts more than she expected it to.

_You __will never be enough._

* * *

_tbc_


	13. Visiting

_His words __felt like a punch in the face, reverberating through her body all the way to her heart. Then she felt nothing but anger. Tears fell down her cheeks, scorching her skin as she walked out of the coffee shop and the door closed behind her with a bang._

_She kept walking aimlessly down the street, tears silently falling as the anger raged her insides. His words played over and over in her mind with each violent beat of her heart._

_She wasn't sure how long it took__or how long she walked, but eventually the fire settled and her tears dried in the cold January wind._

_The__tiny voice at the back of her mind, whose whispering objection had been shut out before, increased in volume. When she finally calmed down a little, she realized something that had her stopping abruptly in her steps._

_You know him, she thought to herself. You know him and that wasn't him; it was the old Chuck. The Chuck that left her waiting on a helipad at seventeen because he was scared out of his right mind that she would run if the real him was uncovered. The Chuck that went AWOL after his father's funeral and told her that he didn't want you around once she finally found him. The Chuck that trashed his office at Victrola rather than telling her what was wrong._

_You __**know **__him._

_He has changed, you know that. He loves you. He freaked out just like you are freaking out. Isn't that why you haven't even taken that damn test yet?_

_The__insight hit her like a ton of bricks and she started running. She ran all the way back to the coffee shop, rushing inside, only to find their table empty and him nowhere to be seen._

_He just freaked out. __He had a meeting so he couldn't stay. Everything is going to be just fine._

_Right?_

* * *

_He called her later that night but she didn't answer. __He called her over and over again but she just sat on her bed, watching her phone cast a pale light in the dark room, listening to the buzzing sound of the phone's vibrations against the table._

_She didn't know what to say or how to say it. She couldn't completely get over the fact that he had actually said those words to her. And even though she didn't believe that he truly meant them, they still would have to have been somewhere at the back of his mind to even surface during their conversation._

_It scared her. All she wanted to do was to talk to him but she didn't want to have a conversation like the one they were bound to have over the phone._

_She just couldn't have a conversation like that over the phone._

_When her phone stopped ringing for what seemed like the hundredth time, she picked it up and sent him a message. Telling him she would come by tomorrow, finishing it off with an 'I love you', because even though she might be angry and disappointed, that wasn't likely to change anytime in the nearest future. Or ever._

_When she woke up the next morning only to be__presented with unquestionable evidence that she wasn't the least bit pregnant, she felt like an idiot and cursed herself as well as the heavens, for forcing her into a situation that had required her to even tell him about her worries._

_She__had barely slept all night, and even though it was scarcely past the break of dawn she gave up all efforts to even try and get some more sleep, and headed for Harvard._

_As __she stepped out of the car outside his building she couldn't help but feel nervous and kept trying to convince herself that everything would be fine._

_Getting out of the elevator, she made her way toward his door. The corridor was empty since it was early on a Sunday morning. Swallowing hard and telling herself to stop acting like an idiot, she made her way down the hall._

_Suddenly there was the sound of a door being opened interrupting the silence._

_She could hear voices __speaking in hushed tones and smiled to herself as she pictured the walk of shame that was most likely taking place around the corner._

_While turning the corner, she immediately froze in her step. Her heart – that only mere seconds ago had been fluttering nervously - sank in her chest as her eyes landed on something that she would never have expected to see._

_The door that was__open was his door. The mumbling voices were coming from him –__**her **__Chuck - and someone else. Someone with wavy hair, dressed in a familiar looking pair of pyjamas that pooled around her bare feet._

_Someone __who was currently leaning in and placing a kiss on __**her **__Chuck's cheek before heading down the hall._

_He called out to__the curvaceous girl, telling her something she couldn't hear, and in turn the girl shot him a radiant smile and laughed before turning the next corner and disappearing out of sight._

_Her head was spinning __as she found herself sinking down to the floor with her back against the yellow wall of the corridor. The recent events were playing over and over in her head as she buried her face in her hands and forced herself to breathe in and out._

_Suddenly everything that she had been so__certain about was falling apart around her._

_So that __was why he'd freaked out. He never changed, did he?_

_**He is sick of you, of course he is.**_

_**You are never enough.**_

_**Never have been, never will be.**_

_For a__while she didn't know whether to fight or flight - because she was pretty sure her world had just tilted to the side, leaving her to hang on to the edge - and she wasn't positive she could fight without loosing her grip and fall._

_How did she not see this coming?_

_With an effort that demanded more __strength than she had ever thought herself capable of, she got to her feet, filled her lungs to the rim with oxygen, and locked away the painful thoughts._

_She was focusing on the rage - which had once again started to glow and was growing with every click of her heels against the floor - as she walked the short route up to his door. Her heart was hammering in time with the knocking sound her closed fist made against his door._

_She was going to handle this like a lady._

_He opened__the door within seconds, "…forgot something?" He drawled, and then his appearance changed into a look of surprise as his eyes landed on her face. His shocked expression only added fuel to the fire that was glowing inside of her._

_The next __sound audible in the empty corridor was the sound of her open palm striking against his cheek. Then came her voice, filled with barely contained rage._

"_You make me sick!"_

* * *

_tbc_


	14. It's a thin line

He is on his fourth drink - but who is counting, really? - and currently doing his very best to ignore that fucking ever-present tightness in his chest. He tells himself that she doesn't look _that_ good in that navy dress anyways.

He is throwing back the last of his drink when Al walks through the door, and if he wasn't Chuck Bass he would breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of her.

She accepts a champagne flute from one of the waiters, winks and says something to the man that makes him blush and offer her a shy smile in return. The poor man is following her with his eyes as Al walks over to Chuck hurriedly with a huge smile on her face. The fringed hem of her purple, flapper-style dress dances around her legs.

"That poor man will never get over you." He states with a smirk, and she laughs at his opening line as she leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

"The uniforms look great Fish; he in particular looked more than." Al winks, "And I do believe in telling the truth to gorgeous boys in uniform."

"Cougar," He says with a smirk. "If he calls in sick due to heartache I will call you to fill in for him."

"I would totally rock a French maid outfit," Al muses, sipping her champagne and offering the waiter another wink.

* * *

Serena excuses herself to go find Nate, and she is once again left alone out on the balcony with nothing but her thoughts for company.

Company she wouldn't mind to get rid of to be honest.

She is getting a little cold in her dress, but isn't particularly interested in rejoining the party, the glances, and the whispers.

His eyes are haunting her. Even though he is not around, the memory of him looking down at her in concern seems to be etched in the back of her eyes.

She can't handle it when he is like that - when he is being nice. It is unsettling and gives her stomach the most unwelcoming feeling.

She keeps reminding herself of what he did. But as he looks at her like that, the memories seem to fade, only to be replaced with another one. The memory of her doing something she has always been good at, (maybe too good in fact) stabbing someone where it will hurt the most.

She remembers it like it was yesterday. What she did, how he found out, and how she could literally see his eyes darken and become clouded with hurt. Then there had been nothing in them but dark ice and steel.

"There you are!" Serena exclaims as she walks back into the ball room, finally having come to terms with the inevitable.

"I was just about to retrieve you from whatever Prince Charming who was most likely chatting you up out on that balcony."

"I left a heap of heartbroken princes outside," She smirks, going along with her friend's attempt to lighten her mood. "Poor bastards didn't know what hit them."

Serena bursts out laughing and smiles. Accepting another drink from one of the waiters, she looks out over the room, and that is when she sees it – sees _her_.

For a moment she feels as if the room starts to spin around her, transferring her back to a quiet corridor. She can almost feel the smell of detergent, hear the echoes of a girl laughing in her head. For a split second she feels so light-headed that she fears she might pass out or throw up. Through the haze, she can vaguely hear Serena calling out her name.

"Blair!" Serena snaps worriedly, grabbing a hold of her arm. "Is something wrong?"

"Who is that?" Her voice is a barely there whisper. She can barely hear the words over the buzzing noise in her head.

"Who is what?" Serena replies questioningly, but she doesn't stick around to repeat her question.

Her feet seem to be moving of their own volition as she is walking across the marble floor, passing by couples dancing and chatting. But she only has eyes for him, standing there with _her_.

* * *

Nate joins in on the conversation he and Al are having - and his two friends immediately gets into a discussion about some game or whatever - and for the first time all night he can feel some of the tension in his shoulders ease off.

It doesn't last long before the tension returns, and he can feel her eyes on him. She is by his side before he knows it.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Her voice is pure ice. He is startled not only by the tone of her voice but by the fact that she is even addressing him at all. But most of all he is confused about the change of game rules and their habit of avoiding each other. Looking over to Nate, he can tell that his friend is equally confused.

He then follows her gaze to Al, who smiles in reply to her harsh words. He can see a hint of uncertainty in Al's eyes as well.

"I'm Allison," Al offers, but Blair ignores her completely since she is too busy staring him down.

"Chuck and I are friends from Harvard."

"Friends from Harvard." Blair repeats mockingly. "That is _cute_…and it's just _lovely_ how the two of you have managed to stay together all these years."

Al opens her mouth to object but he puts a hand on her arm to silence her. He knows that when Blair is in a mood like this it is better for the innocent bystanders not to say anything to avoid becoming collateral damage.

"Something on your mind?" He replies in Al's place. "We are in the middle of something."

"I guess you don't really have a problem with his inabilities to remain faithful." Blair says with a wicked sneer, once again addressing Al. "I guess that is the upside to being an immoral _whore_."

"Whoa, hang on!" Al objects, not the one to simply stand by and be offended. "Look, I don't know what…"

"What the hell is your problem?" He interjects - his confusion moulding into anger from her offensive outbreak.

She doesn't reply.

She just looks at him – eyes shooting daggers - as she bends her wrist and spills the entire content of her glass down the neckline of Al's dress. Al steps away with a shocked gasp.

Not breaking eye contact with him for a second, she then sends the empty glass to the floor. The expensive crystal shatters into tiny, glimmering pieces and the sudden noise catches the attention of nearly everyone in the room.

She storms off, so full of suppressed anger that she has tunnel vision. She is out the door and on the street within seconds. She is just about to take off down the street as someone grabs a hold of her wrist, forcing her to turn around and face her capturer.

"What the hell is your problem?" He spits and his eyes hold none of the concern from earlier. The softness has been replaced with a searing anger that matches her own.

Good. She can handle anger.

"You have got some nerve!" She spits back just as infuriated. "That was a low blow even for you!"

"You are so goddamn unstable! Think you could explain your crazy outbursts to the rest of us so that we'd have a chance to keep up?"

"...believe me when I say that I am fully aware of just how stupid it was of me to call you!"

She has been ranting all the time during his questioning and is yelling at him now.

"...and I regret it more with every passing second! You are such a pig!"

"…what the _hell_ are you on?" He shouts back, not listening any longer either.

"…I was drunk and obviously out of my right mind, you asshole! And you just have to bring your whore here to rub her in my face?"

"Don't you _dare_ call her that again."

His voice is nothing but a threatening growl now. The contempt in his eyes would be heartbreaking if she allowed herself to notice.

"You don't get to have an opinion on whom I spend my time with!" He snaps, his voice back in a higher pitch. "You lost the right the minute you…"

He trails off, and the unspoken reminder of what went down between them creates a deafening silence as they stand opposite each other. Both of them are breathing heavily and simmering with resentment.

She is the first one to break the sudden stillness.

"And you don't get to tell me what to do!" She yells back at him, close to stomping her Manolo-clad foot. "What goes around comes around!"

"You couldn't be more right."

She raises her hand but stops right before she sends it smashing against his cheek. Something is holding her back that she isn't able to interpret.

Later on she won't be able to tell who made the first move – which one of them was the one to take the initiative. But all of a sudden she finds herself pressed up against the wall of the brick building they were standing in front of, her lips crashing against his violently, and her fingers intertwining in his hair.

Her mind - that seconds ago was a whirlwind of mixed emotions - is now blissfully blank. Her body - that was numb - is now anything but as she pulls him closer, eliciting a soft groan from his lips.

His hands slide up her thighs and the sound escaping her lips in response brings her back to reality – and the realization of what she is doing hits her.

"No!" She manages to blurt out while she pushes him away with all the strength she can gather. Her arms feel like they have lost all strength and her breathing is strained. She quickly moves away from her position against the wall. "I am not one of your whores!"

"You've got that right." He bites back. She can tell that his breathing is equally irregular, and he pulls a hand through his hair and straightens his tux. "I am not known to share my toys, and you seem to get around."

"Go to hell."

And with those final words she rushes off on shaking legs, forcing herself not to look back.

* * *

She is walking alone in the now chilly New York night, doing her best to pretend that she doesn't know where she is going, or what she is thinking.

Even as she walks inside the building and through the lobby, she still refuses to acknowledge it as her intended destination.

The building was finished last year and has quickly become both a landmark in the New York skyline, as well as a greatly talked about project. It houses a vast amount of luxurious apartments as well as a group of even more extravagant penthouses and it has become _the_ place to live for the young and successful. The company – she refuses to think of the name because that would indicate that she is here on purpose, which she is not - responsible for the building's design and construction has been represented with numerous awards for their innovative design and environmental friendly thinking.

As she takes the private elevator to the top floor she is still feigning ignorance. When the elevator comes to a halt reality hits her, and for a second she wishes to be far, far away.

Then the doors open before her and she is met by a confused and annoyed pair of eyes.

He open his mouth to speak, but - afraid that if he does, he will force reality back into her mind - she silences him with an uncompromising, "Don't".

* * *

He is back at his penthouse, exhausted and dead set on blocking out any memory of the night's events. He is also contemplating the most suiting cure to help erase the vivid memory of her soft lips against his and her hands pulling at his hair.

When the elevator announces the arrival of a guest with a merry ding, he knows.

He just _knows_ who his late night visitor is. Still, when the doors slide open, he opens his mouth to object. He is too tired to fight with her. Too exhausted to hate her. Not entirely sure why she still feels the need to fight.

But as she cuts his unspoken protest off with a "don't", the look in her eyes doesn't tell of hate, upcoming arguments or vindictiveness, but simply mirrors his own confusion.

"Don't" She pleads once more, and they both stand there for a moment, looking at each other hesitantly. Both are trying to decipher the look in the other person's eyes and struggling to find their bearings.

Then in a heartbeat they both give up their futile attempts, and before she can really register what is happening, she finds herself pressed up against a wall for the second time that night.

It is violent and rough. There is no tenderness in the way his lips find the right spot on her neck, and no patient anticipation in the way she hastily rids him of hindering layers of clothing. No coy invitation in the way she locks her legs around his waist, and no softness in the way his hands travel up her thighs.

Sounds of ecstasy are being swallowed by gnawing kisses, and roaming hands are focused on anything but tender touching.

No loving words or appreciating looks. No words being exchanged whatsoever, not a single moment of eye-contact.

It is nothing but pure fight. An aggressive battle for control. A battle to be the one that comes out on top - as unscathed and unaffected as humanly possible. Where the winner proves just how much he or she doesn't care, how little it matters.

An explosion of pent-up emotions that has the last remaining, silky-winged butterflies swirling and dancing in panic where they are locked away, deep down. The hurt and anger lacing their wings tears on the walls of their prison, but not enough to allow them out to fly freely.

But still their flutter increases in strength and speed, as if they are ridding themselves of dust and preparing their escape.

* * *

She knows that it was a mistake the very second it is over. Before her heart rate has even begun to slow down - and while her limbs are still barely able to support her weight - she knows that she shouldn't have come there.

She knows that she has done nothing but reinstate her position as one of his whores, and she can no longer remember why that seemed like a logical thing to do minutes before.

She smoothes out her dress, unavailingly trying to zip up the battered zipper at the side of her dress before giving up. She still hasn't looked at him once, and neither of them have spoken a word. He is still leaning against the wall, but as she picks her clutch off the floor and presses the button to the elevator, he walks over to the other end of the room.

The elevator arrives, and the sound of the bell is like a fog horn in the eerie silence, that accompanies the jangle of ice cubes in his tumbler.

She knows that he isn't looking her way – she would know it if he was – and without looking back, she steps into the elevator.

* * *

_tbc_


	15. The return of the youknowwhats

He might have gotten an hour or two of sleep, but instead his alarm wakes him from a restless slumber. The nauseous feeling that is turning and swirling in his gut is the first thing that he notices. The pounding head-ache comes to his attention next.

The fail-safe hang over cure is blended within minutes, the familiar ritual complete with a wince at the screeching sound of the blender. He follows plain routine; down the drink, aspirin, shower, get dressed.

As he stands in front of the mirror tying his paisley tie, he spots something that only increases the uneasy feeling in his gut. A red and blue-ish mark partially hidden underneath the collar of his shirt.

He shakes his head to rid himself of the unwanted memories that come rushing back, but as he does the realization dawns on him.

They are back.

Fluttering.

_And they have got to be murdered._

* * *

She doesn't make it downstairs until it's almost noon. When she finds her mother and Cyrus in the dining room, having brunch, she instantly regrets her decision to venture down. Though, she could really use some orange juice to quench her thirst. And cure her hang-over. She is really starting to feel that her new friend Dom Perignon is out to get her, even though he proved to be of great help last night when she returned home.

"Blair! How lovely of you to come and join us!" Cyrus exclaims as she enters the room, his greeting eliciting an indignant huff from his wife. Eleanor doesn't grant her daughter with a glance, and the standoffish behaviour from her reminds Blair of her rather…theatrical performance last night.

"Good morning." She offers Cyrus a weak smile, and takes her place on one of the empty chairs. She then breathes a sigh of relief Dorota when the maid immediately places a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in front of her.

"More like 'good afternoon', wouldn't you say, dear?" Cyrus chuckles, buttering a croissant. "Well, we are all allowed to sleep in every now and then, aren't we?"

She doesn't reply and a heavy silence settles around the table. Eleanor is ignoring her daughter all together, browsing through the morning paper with a scowl etching her features.

She is slowly sipping her juice - and waiting for the unsettling feeling in her gut to go away - as it hits her.

Butterflies.

Fluttering.

_No. No, no, no!_

* * *

A while later the three of them are finishing off their food. She has begun to realize that she has something else to deal with before carrying on with her mission to murder the nasty creatures pestering her insides.

Her mother is obviously displeased and most likely expecting an apology.

"Mother?" Her voice sounds weak even to her, and she curses herself internally before continuing, "I am sorry about last night, it wasn't my intention to cause a scene."

Eleanor merely huffs in response at first, but then lowers the paper and looks at her as she continues.

"Thinking before acting has never been a strong trait of yours." Her mother admonishes "You really need to let go of those childish antics, Blair."

"I will." She agrees resignedly. "I am really sorry."

Seemingly pleased with her apology, Eleanor then excuses herself, and Blair finds herself alone with Cyrus. He reaches out and places his hand on hers, offering her a comforting smile.

"Being passionate about things isn't necessarily the same as behaving childishly." Cyrus offers, and she is instantly filled with affection for the man she has come to think of as her step-father. Despite his overly affectionate outbursts and ridiculous ties, he isn't all that bad.

"I never thanked you for Paris." She replies, changing the subject all together. The combination passion and Chuck Bass is not something that she is interested in lingering on.

Cyrus merely looks back at her with a confused frown on his face.

"For getting me out of that horrid jail cell?"

"No love, that wasn't my doing, I'm afraid." Cyrus replies with an apologetic smile, as he swallows the last of his coffee.

"That was all thanks to young Mr. Bass. He works fast…and he has a good heart, that one - if I am allowed to say so - even though he hides it well at times."

* * *

It is like he has opened a can of worms.

He can feel her on his skin, the smell of her perfume and that which is only _her_ seems to have permanently invaded his nostrils and his mind.

He can still taste her on the tip of his tongue, and it is leaving him with a bitter taste in the back of his mouth.

_This is bad, Bass. Really fucking bad._

* * *

Why on earth would he help her?

Pacing around her bedroom she tries to rationalize it all to hell. Tries to come up with a plausible explanation as to why he would even do as much as raise an eyebrow at the news of her…predicament. But she can't seem to focus on anything other than the jittery fluttering that is pricking and poking at her insides.

After several minutes of frantic pacing, she realizes that there is only one way to find out. To her dismay the thought sends _them _whirling, and a series of images pass through her mind.

_This is bad._

There is time for nothing but a static buzzing from the intercom before she walks through the door, clearly not interested in waiting to be granted permission to enter.

* * *

The mere sight of her standing in the door causes the unmentionable creatures inside of him to go into a frenzy.

He swallows hard in a useless attempt to rid himself of the lump that is forming in his throat, and curses inwardly for being such a spineless coward.

So there might be some kind of _physical attraction_ still harboured in his system. Their chemistry has always been undeniable, no point in denying it now. It used to amaze him - he thinks - the feelings that she provoked in him. He would have followed her to the moon and back.

So his physical reaction might be somewhat similar - he will give her that - but there is a huge difference in the feelings that it brings with it nowadays.

Now it hurts.

Realizing that he is probably coming off as a fool, he forces himself to meet her gaze.

She is wearing a bright red trench coat and her dark curls are falling freely around her face. Crossing her arms across her chest, she examines him haughtily, and he has to force himself not to look away.

"Waldorf." He greets her coldly, and realizes that it is the first time he has called her by name – be it first or last - since she returned.

"Bass."

He returns his attention to the papers on his desk, feigning disinterest as he waits for her to make the next move.

He can feel her eyes on him, and it has those darned things moving so violently he can feel a shiver running down his spine. He is about to surrender, and ask her what the hell she is doing there, when she beats him to it.

"Why did you help me out in Paris?"

"What are you referring to?" He forces a good amount of indifference into his voice, casually browsing through some papers.

Meanwhile his heart is racing a mile a minute as he tries to come up with a believable explanation. One that doesn't come too close to the truth.

Or preferably avoids the truth all together.

"You had your precious attorneys getting me out of jail." She snaps, but he can hear the hurt in her voice from the memory.

"Contrary what you would like to believe, I am not a total monster." He retorts. "I was there, made some calls. So what?"

"But _why_?"

"I just did, alright? Fuck, had I known you would throw a fit about it, I would have left you there to rot." He snaps back, amazed by how impossible it seems for him to keep his normal cool around her these days.

"Since when do you 'just do' something _nice_ to me?" Is the quick comeback, and she frowns in confusion.

"Would you drop it?" He spits. "It is no big deal, I made a few calls. You weren't supposed to be there in the first place…"

He realizes his Freudian slip the moment the words leave his lips, and her eyes widen with suspicion.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, would you just drop it?"

"That was not 'nothing'," She objects, walking closer to where he is standing. "You…"

"I tipped off the police, okay?"

"You _what_? Her voice rises to a screech, "You were behind the whole thing? What? Why? You sick son of a…"

"I told you! You weren't supposed to be there!" He bites back. "I can't believe you went back to him…did you find a soul mate in his cheating ways?"

* * *

_tbc_


	16. Reluctance and confusion

_The short walk from the elevator back to his room felt like a marathon run in quicksand. As he reached out for the doorknob, he watched his hand move as if caught in slow motion._

_Finally__being inside he sunk down on the couch. The thoughts and memories of the last half hour ran through his head so quickly that they formed nothing but a numbing buzz._

_**You are just like him.**_

_**You know what...you are worse.**_

_**He was happy…and look where that got him.**_

_**I can't believe you would do that to me!**_

_**I am done.**_

_He was still sitting there, frozen to the spot with his whole body__aching from her words and the look in her eyes, aching from knowing that he screwed up – again – when there was a knock on the door._

_He didn't move, didn't say anything. Another knock and then the door opened, revealing Al._

"_Fish?"__she smiled, before she caught sight of him sitting on the couch and the smile died on her lips. "What is wrong?"_

_His__answer was stuck in his throat. When he turned his face to look at her, he couldn't gather enough strength to come off as even slightly okay,_

"_Jeez, mate," Al breathed. "What the hell happened?"_

"_I messed up." He managed to choke out, barely__recognizing his own voice. It sounded too hoarse and too strained._

"_You messed up?" Al repeated, raising her eyebrows in question. "So then why are you sitting here moping?" She continued even though they both understood that 'moping' didn't really encapsulate his current state of mind._

_Her __question threw him, and he shot her a confused look._

"_Go fix it!" Al __exclaimed bewildered. "Don't just sit here! Apologize! Do whatever you need to do, just make it right again!"_

_It was almost ten o'clock at night when he finally stepped out of the car outside her building._

_He would fight for her; he had made up his mind. Sure, she hurt him too, but he couldn't help but feel that he deserved it._

_He __fucked up, but he loved her and she loved him._

_Right?_

* * *

_He knocked on her door, and waited nervously for her to open. When she finally did, he had never been able to prepare for what awaited him._

_She was __undoubtedly intoxicated - dressed only in a pink, lacy slip - and the look in her eyes nearly stopped his heart in its tracks._

"_Blair." He managed to choke out, but as he reached out for her hand she snatched it away. "Can I talk to you? Please?"_

_She didn't reply._

"_Please." He__repeated, fearing that he might lose his mind at any second if she didn't say something._

_When a new voice __was unexpectedly heard from her room, he was caught completely off guard._

"_Who is it?" Asked the voice, and suddenly a blonde,__well built guy showed up behind Blair - clad in nothing but a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips._

_The guy raised his eyebrow at him__curiously as he slipped his arm around her waist from behind._

"_No one." She replied __soullessly, but for a second he could see a flicker of hurt flashing in her eyes. "I have no idea who he is."_

_If he had __thought so before, this time he knew for sure that his heart had stopped. It felt like one of those dreams when you fall through nothing but darkness and you're panicking because it feels like you'll never hit the ground._

_Once again __he was stuck in quicksand, and searched her eyes for any trace of her – his Blair. She simply glared back at him and then chose to ignore him completely, turning around in the arms of the blonde._

_He swallowed the __words burning on his tongue, and shut his eyes to keep out the image of her lips on that thing. Then he turned around and walked away._

_She had promised him a long time ago - standing in 1812 in the middle of the night and asking him if he wanted her there – that she would run with him if he ran from her. At that time, her words had been what saved him._

_This time she didn't call out for him as he walked away, and she didn't run after him._

_And__this time he didn't want her to._

* * *

("I told you! You weren't supposed to be there!" He bites back. "I can't believe you went back to him…did you see a soul mate in his cheating ways?")

"Don't you even go there, Bass!" She yells back, and in sheer horror she can feel tears starting to burn in the corners of her eyes.

All the questions she wants answers to are mixing with the memories of last night, another night long ago and that damn feeling she gets every time he looks at her. It's too much.

"Why would you do that? Do you hate me _that_ much?"

Her question assumption is so far from the truth – the truth he would still very much prefer to keep to himself, thank you – that it is bordering on comical.

"What part of 'you weren't supposed to be there' is it that you don't understand?" He growls, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "He cheated on you!"

"Yes!" She yells back, and now he can see the tears that are starting to well up in her eyes. "He did! That seems to be common protocol for the men in my life!"

"Well he couldn't just get away with that, could he?" He spits back, and as soon as the words escape his lips, he realizes hit mistake.

_Fucking great, Bass. Just fucking great._

"You are the most…what?" She is about to begin another insulting tirade before his words hits her.

It is like throwing a bucket of water on a roaring fire. Confusion washing over her, seeping into her very core.

"You set him up on my behalf? To get back at him for cheating on me?"

_No.__I did no such thing._

_Liar._

"Don't flatter yourself, Waldorf." He sneers, but he knows his mask is slipping. He can feel it.

She looks back at him with an almost eerie calm in her eyes. Eyes that seconds ago were blazing with fury and brimming with hot, angry tears.

Tears that are still threatening to spill over, but now reflects both bewilderment and conviction at the same time.

"You are lying." She states, and silences him with a look when he opens his mouth to object. "You did that for me. Do you want the prerogative of hurting me all to yourself, is that it? You don't give a shit about me; but God forbid someone else plays with your discarded toys?"

She is confused, he can tell. But the anger is once again simmering underneath and he jumps at the chance to push her over the edge. Make her leave and take all her questions with her.

"Something like that." He shrugs, not able to look at her as he lies. If he did she would know.

"You are so fucking messed up!" She shrieks, and knows that she has to get out of there now. Right this instant.

"Still you keep coming back for more." He replies tauntingly, but there is something off about his reply that she can't really put her finger on.

"Believe me when I say that will never ever happen again." She replies harshly, and then she turns on her heels and storms right back out of his office. Slamming the door behind her, and ignoring the tears that have begun to fall down her cheeks.

* * *

_tbc_


	17. Clarity

She calls Serena through her tears as she exits the Bass Industries building, begging the girl to meet her for lunch. They arrive at the Waldorf Rose apartment only minutes apart, and as her friend walks through the door she ends up clinging to her in a manner so unlike her that Serena seems momentarily stunned.

"Shh B," Serena comforts and hugs her tight. "What is wrong? And what happened last night? I only caught the end of the 'show'."

The attempted joke only has her crying harder, and she buries her face in Serena's hair.

It takes several minutes for her to settle down enough for Serena to lead her over the couch. They sit down and as she is still trying to catch her breath, she tells Serena everything. She starts all the way from the beginning - with the pregnancy scare - and all the way up to she ended up in his office this morning.

Though she chooses to leave out the part of him - Serena's _stepbrother_ - pushing her up against a wall…twice.

Serena listens attentively, only making little noises every now and then to spur her on.

"Wow" Serena sighs, once she has finished, seeming a little overwhelmed from finally knowing the whole story. "I am so sorry, B. That must have been awful."

She can only nod in response, blinking furiously to prevent more tears from falling.

"I asked him to go see you in Paris. But he told me that he had it taken care of. He didn't mention a word about knowing what had happened, let alone being the 'mastermind' behind it."

"Oh, he showed up alright," She replies, letting out a bitter imitation of a laugh at the memory. "Most likely to gloat."

"He is not the devil incarnate, B." Serena objects with a sad expression on her face. "No matter how he used to behave back in high school. He changed, grew up."

She purely scoffs disbelievingly in reply.

"But there is one more thing I don't get…" Serena continues, frowning. "You're saying that Al…" The blonde ignores the angry glare from her when she mentions _that_skanky piece of trash. "…slept with Chuck, and that is why you went all Lindsay Lohan on her last night?"

She nods, wiping the last traces of tears from her cheeks.

"But…you don't care about Chuck?"

"No." She replies quickly, ignoring the way her stomach reacts to hearing his name. "But that doesn't mean that _she_ didn't deserve what she got."

Serena comes close to smiling at her jealous tone, but presses her lips together as she shoots her a murderous glare.

"I am sorry, but Al sleeping with Chuck?" Serena laughs, "There is _no way_."

"I'm sure she didn't hesitate to construct a highway to get into his pants."

"I know her, B." Serena reminds her softly. "She and Chuck are nothing but friends; Al would never fall for his so called charm…No insult intended." She hastily adds. "And Chuck has never made a move on her, I would know."

"And I know what I saw." She retorts icily.

"Maybe you should talk to him about it?" Serena suggests. "Get some closure at least?"

"I have nothing to say to him. Things couldn't be more closed." She snaps, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that is telling her something else entirely.

* * *

"Did you sleep with Al?"

Serena doesn't bother with pleasantries as he answers her call, and he thanks his lucky stars that he didn't put her on speaker phone. He raises his hand in a silent excuse and leaves the meeting.

"What?" He says, as he steps put in the hallway, both baffled and annoyed. "Isn't it a little early in the day to be drinking yourself into stupidity, sis?"

"Blair claims that she saw you and Al kissing as Al was leaving _your_dorm, wearing _your_clothes." Serena continues, and he can hear the doubt and confusion in her voice.

"What? What the hell are you talking about? When? What did she tell you?" He frowns, stopping in his tracks.

"In college, before you guys…She told me everything." Serena replies in a sad tone. "I am sorry Chuck."

He can't handle pity on top of everything else, and the ludicrous, confusing tales of Blair Waldorf is starting to wear thin on what little is left of his patience.

"Whatever." He scoffs, pressing his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose.

"I am in a meeting, I have to go."

But he doesn't return to the meeting right away. After finishing the call he returns to his office. Sinking down on the couch, he rests his head in his hands tiredly, trying to piece together some of the puzzle.

* * *

His head is beginning to pound – a dull ache spreading from his forehead to the back of his head – as he reaches out for his phone and almost knocks his glass over as he does.

The whole day has gone by in a blur. He somehow got back into the boardroom and wrapped up the meeting, finished the work he had to do, got back to his apartment and later on called Serena back. She retold her conversation with Blair, and as she went through it all, he began to see things a little more clearly.

He poured himself the first glass of scotch the second they finished their conversation.

Maybe he should know better by now, maybe he should have realized that it wouldn't help sort out the exhausting mess in his mind. But he really didn't give a fuck.

Clarity isn't always what you make it out to be.

So I might be more than a little drunk, he thinks as he dials a familiar number, squinting to make sure he pushes the right keys, his phone apparently having shrunk to matchbox size during the last hours. But he is more than entitled to have a drink or two after this crappy excuse of a day.

He is not sure why he is calling someone, because it isn't something that he would normally even consider. All he knows is that not even the alcohol seems to be able to slow down his racing thoughts, and he can't stand to listen to them any longer.

"Hmpf." Is the only response he gets as the person on the other line picks up.

"Al." He drawls, relieved as the concentration coherent speech requires draws attention from some of the unpleasant thoughts and memories.

"What? Fish?" Al's voice sighs groggily. "Do you have any idea what time it is, mate?"

"Sorry." He apologizes as a glance over to the watch tells him that it is almost two a.m. "I'll let you get back to sleep..."

"Well too much beauty sleep and I will simply be ridiculously attractive." She jokes, but he can hear her stifle a yawn. "What is wrong?"

What is wrong? The words echo through his mind.

_Everything_ would the simplest answer.

Everything is wrong and has been for years.

When the thought hits him - he realizes just how drunk he really is - because that is not even close to what he is willing to admit.

"She thinks that I cheated on her." He chooses to ignore the question all together, and instead opts for the closest to the truth that he will allow himself to go. "With you."

"Whaaat?" Al shrieks. "Who does? Blair?"

"Who else?" He replies dryly, then suddenly not so sure anymore; "…but I didn't…right?"

He can hear _her_ words ringing in his ears, telling him that he never changed, that he is just like _him_, that he is worse. Maybe she was right all along.

The room is spinning faster now. He slowly moves around so that he is lying down, and closes his eyes.

"Oh, _hell no_ darling." Al reassures him jokingly, but there is concern in her voice that he would pick up on if he wasn't completely smashed. "You are too moody for my likings."

"She thought that I did…" He repeats, contemplating the fact that his couch is apparently floating and rocking around on open sea. "That's why she…"

Even now he can't bring himself to say it out loud, and the memory has some of the hurt seeping into his voice.

"That sucks, Fish. I am so sorry." Al sighs, and he can hear the sadness in her voice even though it sounds as if she is talking under water.

"…yeah." He sighs, drifting off to sleep. "It really does."

* * *

_tbc_


	18. Sunlight and ceasefire

The following morning she does what she always does nowadays when everything gets to be too much.

When things are too far from perfect.

She retrieves her camera bag from where it has been standing since she returned from Paris. She goes through the contents of the bag to make sure everything is alright, and almost pets the camera soothingly in a silent apology for not paying it any attention in the last two weeks.

Sneaking downstairs, she manages to pass Dorota and her mother unnoticed, and leaves the apartment.

Finally in Central Park she pulls the camera out of her bag and allows the familiarity of it all to have her full attention. Enjoying the soft spring sunlight, she focuses solemnly on what she is doing, watching the world through the lens and shutting out all the rest.

She took up the hobby in college, and through a series of courses she learned the basics and then some. It kept her sane as she pieced herself together from his...whatever it was.

She loves the permanence and consistency of pictures. She can freeze perfection, or create it herself. Nothing can ever render it useless or less perfect…or ugly.

Her teacher used to tell her that she had a 'good eye' but she is not so sure anymore, with Philippe's words still clear in her mind. But today it doesn't really matter. Today it is all about _not_ thinking.

She lets it consume her for a while, and plays around with motifs and angles. When she spots him heading towards her, her fingers move on their own volition and she snaps a few shots of him before she realizes what she is doing.

* * *

He feels like Hell when he wakes up, and even though he deserves it, he does something he has never done before. For the first time since he took over his father's company and made it his own – he clears his schedule and takes the day off.

His secretary sounded not far from an aneurysm, but he lied through his teeth and gave her some story about food poisoning. As soon as his ever faithful hang over cure has had some effect on his pounding head, he takes the town car to Central Park.

He is still amazed that he has become one of those people – the joggers. But he runs. Sometimes with Nate, sometimes with Al, but most of the time he does it alone.

Sometimes it is to get the time to think something through, work out a business proposal or muse over a…satisfying night before.

Sometimes he cranks up the volume of his iPod, and doesn't think about anything at all.

Today is definitely a day of the second kind.

Though no matter how hard he pushes himself, his mind seems to be stuck in a particular route.

He eventually gives up, and is making his way back to the waiting car – lost in thought - when he spots her.

They stand opposite each other in silence. Neither, seemingly, sure of what to say or how to act. Both of them too confused to keep up the pretence of being okay and untouched by the whole thing.

* * *

She is tired down to the bone with this game. And when she looks him in the eyes - and for the first time in forever actually _sees_ him, she can tell that he is to.

Then something flickers in his eyes, and they darken. She can see the tension work its way into his jaw.

"Serena told me about your…conversation."

She is quick to follow his lead. She purses her lips and then frowns as she replies.

"Is that so?"

"I never…" He trails off and diverts his gaze for a second, then looks back at her as he continues. "I never cheated on you."

'I can't believe you'd think I would do that to you.' echoes unspoken between them, but she is unrelenting.

"Right."

"It is the truth." He bites back, fire in his eyes now. "I am not _him_. I thought _you_ knew that."

"Well the Chuck I _thought_ I knew wouldn't have accused me of cheating!"

Her last remark hits home, and once again she can see that thing she can't quite figure out flicker in his eyes.

"Well, the Blair I knew wouldn't have done a lot of things." He sneers, "…like gone back to a cheating, crack head like that French creep."

"I was there to get some things of mine." She scoffs, showing him the camera in her hand, not bothering with details. "I can't believe you think I would go back to him!"

"I can't believe you thought that I was cheating on you! What the _hell_, Waldorf?"

* * *

_You were supposed to trust me._

His headache is returning full force, sending rays of pain through his scull.

…_But__I was supposed to __**not **__freak out._

She opens her mouth to reply, but seems to change her mind and nothing but a sigh escapes her lips. He himself lets out a frustrated breath, running his fingers through his damp hair.

* * *

They are not used to this. They are not used to silence, and not knowing what to say.

They were always all about the quick remarks, the banter, the (sometimes) shrouded insults. Then that changed, the old blended with the new. Blended with honesty and secrets, hopes and fears.

So as they stand – facing each other in the midst of a sunny spring day in Central Park – they are at a loss for words in more ways than one. Because there is too much to say, and no words seem to fit. At the same time, there are a million and one words aching to be said, but they seem impossible to piece together and speak out loud.

If they were to allow it – if they were to look closely and actually _see_ - their eyes would tell it all. But for now the pride and hurt is still in the way.

Overpowering.

Therefore they only share a quick second of eye contact before they look away. A brief nod on his part, another in reply from her – a silent understanding of something they don't have the words or capability to voice out loud.

A truce perhaps.

A ceasefire.

An 'I am so sick of trying to hate you, but this still hurts so badly that I am not sure what to do'.

Another brief moment of eye contact, then he gets moving again and walks past her, heading for the waiting car.

Only this time they can both feel that there is nothing final about it.

* * *

_tbc_


	19. Drinks and questions

She is sitting at the bar in the Palace, sipping a glass of white wine, when Serena joins her. The blonde orders a drink, and her radiating smile causes the bartender to fumble with the bottle.

Blair smirks at the man's inelegance, and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow in her friend's direction.

"Should you really be flirting with bartenders when you are engaged to be married?"

Serena shoots the man – completely unaware of being the centre of conversation - another dazzling smile as she accepts her drink.

"I might be engaged, but I am not dead."

"I really am happy for you." She reminds her friend, and is surprised as her voice breaks a little. "And I am sorry if I haven't acted that way."

Serena's smile widens.

"I know you are, B, it is okay; you have had a lot on your mind. But will you be my Maid of Honor?"

The question has her feeling even guiltier, and she can feel tears welling up in her eyes.

"I would be honored." She smiles through the tears. Serena squeals with joy and throws her arms around her neck, hugging her tight.

"I saw him today."

"You did?" Serena knows who she is referring to without any further explanations, and loosens her grip around Blair's neck, giving her a curious look. "What happened?"

"Nothing," She snaps, but then remembers that Serena knows nothing about their rendezvous, and isn't referring to anything like that. "I mean…we bumped into each other in Central Park, that's all."

"Do you believe him now?" Serena doesn't sugarcoat her question.

_Do you?_

"I think so." She admits, taking another sip from her glass. "…Yeah, I do. I am just not sure it changes anything."

The truth in her statement hurts more than she expected it to, and brings with it a feeling of guilt that she is more than a little hesitant to explore further. Another sip of wine does nothing to dissolve the lump in her throat.

"Do you want it to?"

The answer that echoes in her mind is far from what she is willing to admit. She shrugs her shoulder in a vain attempt to appear somewhat indifferent, but then contradicts the gesture with her next words. An honest answer.

"I don't know."

"He has missed you, you know." Serena points out, eyeing her carefully as she takes another sip of her drink.

A flutter in the pit of her stomach that for the first time - in a long, long time – doesn't only hurt.

_I have missed him too._

* * *

**From: Al**

So, you saw Blair today?

**From: Fish**

Who told you?

**From: ****Al**

Serena.

Well?

**From: Fish**

My dear sis needs to learn how to keep her mouth shut.

**From: Al**

Don't avoid the question.

WELL?

**From: Fish**

Still seeing that moronic banker?

**From: Al**

You suck.

**From: ****Fish**

That will never be a part of my repertoire.

**From: Al**

Ew. Fish!

I really don't want to know about your 'repertoire'.

**From: ****Fish**

Then stop asking so many questions.

**From: Al**

Aaah!

Fine, I'll just ask Serena then.

**From: ****Fish**

Why? What has she heard?

**From: Al**

Well look who's being nosy now.

**From: ****Fish**

Al…

**From: Al**

Chuck?

**From: ****Fish**

You suck.

**From: Al**

Now who is it that's talking about 'repertoires'? ;)

**From: ****Fish**

I'll need therapy for that.

* * *

_tbc_


	20. Guilt and anger

She has been keeping busy for the last week. Ever since that day in Central Park she has spent her days jumping from one thing to the other, not staying still for more than a few seconds at a time. She has spent her days helping her mother out at Eleanor's studio, doing everything from making coffee to taking Polaroid pictures of scrawny models in her mother's latest designs. Her behaviour leaving Eleanor confused beyond words with her daughter's sudden interest in playing assistant.

Though no matter how occupied or distracted she makes damn sure she is during the days, at night – when there is nothing to distract her or keep her busy – she can feel it melting away.

She can literally feel the anger and resentment she has felt towards him melt off of her. It is as if the veneer she has put up to cover everything she has refused to acknowledge is dissolving, leaving nothing behind but guilt and sadness.

Feelings that are so crushing they keep her up for hours every night, tossing and turning or just sitting with her back against the headboard of her bed, staring into the darkness of her bedroom.

As she wakes up from yet another night of little sleep it is Saturday, and she wants nothing more than for it to be Monday or Wednesday or any day of the week that would require her to get out of bed, get dressed and get busy. Sadly, even her overachieving, slave driver of a mother doesn't keep her studio open on a Saturday.

When her cell phone indicates a new message where it is laying on her bedside table, she practically throws herself towards it. Realizing exactly how pitiable she has become, she scolds herself inwardly and forces her to wait a second or two before she flips the phone open to reveal a text from Serena.

**Remember, dress fittings****at my place 11am**

**xoxo**

_Task of the day: be the best Maid of Honour the UES has ever seen_.

* * *

She arrives at Serena's place well before eleven o'clock, and unceremoniously kicks Nate out the door with a smile and a wave. While they are waiting for the designer to arrive she happily volunteers to get them some drinks from the kitchen.

When she returns the first thing – or person - that she sees is someone she definitely didn't expect, nor wanted, to see.

"Al! Hi!" Serena beams. "How are you?"

The redhead replies something in that _accent_ of hers, but Blair can barely make out a word she is saying.

"You've met Blair…" Serena trails off, and shoots Blair a hesitant look.

The redhead pats Serena's arm soothingly, before turning her attention to Blair and walking over to where she is standing.

They stand opposite each other, staring each other down, with Serena lingering nervously in the background. Al is the first one to speak, flipping a mass of red locks over her shoulder and crossing her arms over her chest.

"You probably don't like me." She begins, with certainty in her voice, but then rephrases her assertion.

"Actually, you don't know me, so you can't possibly be sure of whether you like me or not. But I'm guessing you're not particularly interested in _getting_ to know me right now. Because you - for some ludicrous reason - believe that I slept with your boyfriend, so you've probably spent years and years wishing that I would drop dead from some nasty STD."

Al draws a quick breath before continuing, not giving her a chance to object.

"Then there is the fact that you haven't been around much lately, but now that you are back home I'm everywhere and know all of your closest friends. To top it all off I am going to be a bridesmaid at your best friend's wedding…and I'm guessing you are not happy about that at all, I'm not sure I would be if I were you. So you probably hate me right now, but that's okay, I am not your biggest fan at the moment either." A brief flash of anger passes by in Al's eyes before her civil, well-mannered expression returns.

"You hurt my friend, offended me in public and poured champagne down the neckline of my _vintage_ Chanel. That alone is a complete blasphemy in my opinion. Looking at your dress…" Al motions her pristine floral tea dress. "…you probably agree. But, this isn't about you and me, this is about Serena. I like her a lot; as I'm sure you do too. So…I'm Allison." Al finishes, and extends her hand to Blair, the look in her eyes daring Blair to cause a scene.

Blair purses her lips as she contemplates her next move, infuriated both from being lectured, and by the fact that the Brit is so spot on.

"She rants like Humphrey, only with an accent." Blair points out to Serena, who has been looking at her in badly hidden amusement during Al's rant, and now the blonde lets out a relieved chuckle.

"She makes a lot more sense then Dan used to though." Serena point out, and Blair rolls her eyes in response before returning her attention to the redhead, shaking her hand.

"I am Blair, the Maid of Honour."

* * *

He has been keeping busy. Not because he is in a productive mood, or has been swamped at work, but because it is all he can do to keep from feeling like he is about to combust and go up in flames.

The forced hate, the resentment and the hurt has slowly burned away and left nothing behind but an anger still glowing from her betrayal.

One week. It has been one week since that day in Central Park and he can feel it glowing underneath his skin, forcing him to keep busy, and hoping that the rush of wind as he moves will somehow extinguish the glow and keep it from turning into a blazing fire.

He is pacing around his living room, coffee mug in hand, when Nate walks in the door.

"Hey man."

He lifts his mug in a silent greeting as Nate walks past him and helps himself to some coffee in the kitchen.

"I couldn't stay at Serena's place." Nate explains when he returns. "Something about dress fittings and girl talk. Blair practically kicked me out the front door."

The name has the embers flaring up, but he quickly quenches the feeling with a mouthful of coffee.

"So the Ice Queen is the Maid of Honour, huh?" He replies, ignoring the sudden bitter taste at the back of his mouth.

"Of course she is. Then there is Al, and Serena's roommate from Brown…but she won't be around until later."

He nearly chokes on his drink, and his friend shoots him a humorous glance.

"Al and Blair in the same room, yeah I know." Nate laughs, "The idea of it made me want to stay around to catch the show."

"Funny." He scowls, staring out the huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline.

"Yeah, well…uhm." Nate hesitates, and he can tell that there is something Nate wants to get off his chest. "…so what's up?"

"Not much. Finally closed the deal with the Chinese investors." He replies inattentively. "It has been a busy week."

"You sure that's all?"

"Is there something you would like to ask me, Nathaniel?" He sneers, sensing where this conversation is headed.

"Well…I talked to Serena…" Nate replies, looking over to him cautiously.

And that is all it takes for a flame to flare up again.

That is most definitely his cue to leave.

"I am sure you have" He spits, turning his back on Nate and heading in direction of his bedroom. "She seems dead set on becoming the next Gossip Girl."

"Oh, come on man." Nate calls out after him. "She just cares about you, both of you."

He stops and turns around, giving Nate a look that has his friend shifting his weight nervously.

"I am going for a run."

Nate lets out a resigned sigh, and gives him a pleading look that he deftly ignores.

"Lucky I came here wearing sweats, then."

* * *

"He was a mess you know."

The designer left a while back and the three of them are stretched out on the plush, white couches in Serena's living room, drinking Mimosas and talking about the wedding. She can feel herself starting to warm up to the good-humoured redhead, but the comment instantly sends her into defence.

"He wasn't the only one." She snaps, ignoring Serena's warning look.

"I'm sure." Al agrees, taking another sip from her glass. "I am just telling you in case he tries to pretend like he wasn't when you talk to him about it…"

"Who says we'll be discussing it at all?"

"Blair…" Serena interjects. "This constant fighting and hurting each other between you and Chuck is ridiculous! You two belong together! Even Al can see that, and she has barely even seen the two of you together."

Al nods in agreement

"It is true, Blair. The way he used to look whenever he mentioned you…"

"He hates me." She whispers, her voice breaking.

"He told you that?" Al is baffled, frowning in confusion, and fixating Blair with her violet eyes.

"No." She admits, diverting her gaze and inspecting her fingernails. "But how could he not? After what I did…"

Al scoffs at Blair's words, placing her glass on the glass table before moving over so that she is sitting next to Blair on the couch.

"He doesn't hate you." Al says assertively.

She doesn't know what to say - too busy keeping the tears burning in the corners of her eyes from falling. Serena and Al both notice and give her a moment, returning to their previous conversation about centrepieces, and she appreciates the gesture.

"Ladies." Al smiles moments later, getting up from her position on the couch and smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on her navy Diane von Furstenberg shift dress. "This was…lovely, but I have an innocent banker to corrupt. "

"Preparing to break yet another rich, successful and gorgeous man's heart?" Serena sighs with a playful look in her eyes, as she gets to her feet as well.

"Naah." Al grins, hanging her Marc Jacobs bag on her shoulder, and hugging Serena goodbye. "He has some true potential this one."

"I am sorry about ruining your dress." Blair offers. Not usually the one to apologize she forces the words out anyways. Serena's wedding is too important to ruin by hanging on to grudges. Especially when said grudges have turned out to be unfounded.

"No worries." Al smiles, and surprises her by embracing her in a quick hug. "My dry cleaner worked his magic on it."

Right before Al steps out the door she turns around.

"And don't worry; you can apologize about calling me an immoral whore some other time."

* * *

It is not working. He has been out in the sunny weather, working up a sweat for almost an hour, but it is not working. It hasn't been working all week.

He is still fuming. Nate is still jogging right beside him. And from the look in the blonds' eyes most likely expecting some kind of…'let's-talk-about-our-feelings-man-to-man'.

The mere thought makes him cringe.

"Do you remember when I found out about your new hobby?" Nate asks him, breathing heavily with his hair plastered to his forehead.

He rolls his eyes in response, remembering the day like it was yesterday.

"Don't refer to it as a 'hobby', Nathaniel." He manages a lazy drawl even though he can barely breathe. "You make me sound _plebeian_."

"This place still reminds me of our graduation day." Nate points out, motioning the pond that they are passing by at that moment. "I nearly ran over some old lady…"

They share a quick look. Mischief and playfulness replaces sneers and frowns. Then they take off without another word, sprinting on tired, aching legs.

He remembers that day too. Every detail of it, every feeling. Seeing Nate in the morning, being with Blair, visiting his mother's grave, graduating, and the party at Victrola.

He remembers the feeling of having the world at their fingertips as he dragged her away from the celebrations, and the helicopter took them to the waiting jet. Two weeks on a luxurious yacht in the Caribbean to kick-start their summer, and a chance to spend time together just the two of them before college.

It has been a long time since then, but some things never change.

He still hates losing.

Not that he ever _does_ lose.

He plays by the rules this time around though, and the two of them are sprinting the last yards shoulder by shoulder, both determined to be the one first to put his hand against the tree trunk ahead of them.

That time, years ago, his running had been fuelled by a whirlwind of fluttering. This time it is a whole different emotion that motivates him. He can feel the fire increasing with each step.

When Nate hand comes into contact with the tree before his do, it is the final straw.

"Fuck!" He roars, slamming his open palm against the rough bark. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" He growls. Leaning his forehead against the tree he goes on, letting out a series of curses in between hissed breaths. All the while slamming his hand repeatedly against the tree until his palm is burning, and he can feel his heart beating in his throat.

Eventually the buzzing noise inside his head eases off. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he looks over to Nate, daring him to make a comment.

Nate only looks back at him in feigned cluelessness. "You are such a sore loser."

* * *

_tbc_


	21. I'm sorry

Bright rays of light are seeping through her blinds, happily dancing on the walls of her room. She is still in bed, following the flickers of light with tired eyes, and she can't help but find it a little funny that today is apparently one of those perfect, radiantly beautiful days of spring and she is busy.

Busy with slowly but surely losing her mind.

Two more nights of barely any sleep have passed since the dress fittings at Serena's place. Last night she found herself once again sitting in the dark, eyes wide open, drowning in aching, gut-wrenching guilt. When she finds her expression positively zombie-like as she examines herself in the bathroom mirror, she makes up her mind.

_This has to stop._

She frowns at the sudden whirl of giddy fluttering in the pit of her stomach as the thought crosses her mind. Working fuelled by determination she gets dressed in a hurry, and then does her makeup and her hair before leaving the Waldorf apartment.

* * *

She was sure she would find him in his office, but he isn't there.

When his secretary informs her that; "Mr Bass will not be coming to work today, he has cleared his schedule for the entire day." She is more than a little confused and leaves the secretary mid-sentence.

From what she has heard, 'Chuck Bass - CEO' is not one to fail showing up at the office, or take a personal day on a whim.

"Chuck is not at his office, and his secretary says that he has taken a personal day. Has something happened?"

She doesn't bother with pleasantries when Serena answers her phone, and her best friend is quiet for a few seconds before she replies.

"No B, nothing has happened." Serena reassures her, though she sounds a little hesitant. Clearly the blonde knows something that she doesn't.

"Then why isn't he at work, where he should be?" She questions, needing to get her plan over and done with before she loses her nerve.

"Blair… Don't you know what day today is?"

She scowls, quickly growing tired of her friend's sudden interest in guessing games.

"It's Ma…"

She doesn't need to finish the sentence before it hits her.

"Oh." She breathes, standing on the street right outside the Bass Industries headquarters. "I forgot."

"That is why. "An amount of concern in Serena's voice that Blair knows she would never allow her step-brother to hear. "Some things don't change that easily, I guess."

"Right." She waves down a cab. "I'll have to look for him elsewhere then."

She quickly hangs up before Serena has a chance to object.

* * *

He lets out a deep breath, absent-mindedly tracing the outline of the lilies' petals with his index finger as the limo makes a final turn and then comes to a halt.

By now he has become somewhat accustomed to the dull ache in his chest on days like this one. It doesn't hit him like a sucker punch, causing him to nearly loose his breath, as often as it used to do. And he rarely feels the need to drown the feeling in amber liquid anymore. Besides, he learned a long time ago that some things fucking float. Some feelings, that is. He might be Chuck Bass, but not even he can break the laws of physics.

Today he almost _welcomes_ the feeling though. It offers him the chance to focus on something other than the ashes left over from his last conversation with Blair.

Almost.

A last deep breath – preparing himself for what is to come – before he opens the door and steps out into the dazzling sunlight.

* * *

She is a little surprised to find that she remembers the route so well, despite the fact that it has been years since she was last here. She pays the cab-driver and doesn't bother with asking him to stay and wait for her to return. She is going all in this time, and she is burning her last bridge back to safety on purpose by handing the driver a couple of crisp dollar notes.

She walks the last yards, her heels clicking happily against the pavement and interrupting the silence. There is not a single person in sight; the place is seemingly empty except for her and the birds that are singing in the trees. She is grateful for that, until she finds herself standing on the hill and looking out over a very, very empty field. There is no limo in sight, and no-one standing by the headstone below the tree.

Startled she looks around in search of him. She had been sure she would find him here.

_Being sure hasn't gotten you very far today, has it?_

Perhaps she should have checked his apartment, or Victrola or some other alcohol-providing establishment in the city. But she had been so sure that here is where she would find him next.

Beginning to regret her decision not to have the cab waiting for her, she pulls her phone out of her bag to call for another one, when an idea crosses her mind. Call it a hunch. Or maybe it is serendipity. But she finds herself putting her phone back in her bag. She then takes a turn and walks down another path, hoping her memory serves her right this time around as well.

When she spots the familiar figure a bit further ahead - as well as the black limo parked close by - she is relieved and more than a little surprised.

* * *

He takes one last look of the single, white lily before he turns around and walks away.

One, single flower. Never a bouquet. The thought has barely ever crossed his mind. It doesn't matter that Bart Bass has been dead for years now. He still can't find it in himself to bring the man a bouquet of flowers.

It would be too much, too weird, too un-Bass.

Had his father been around, he wouldn't have been that shocked if the old man had scoffed at this small gesture anyways. He assumes it is a little sappy, and the first couple of times he almost did it in childish spite. Bringing one single flower from the bouquet of flowers he left with his mother in a way of saying "Look who's making the calls now, old man."

Besides, he doesn't bring flowers that often anyways.

Walking across the lush, emerald grass he looks up towards the limo, and his heart skips a beat. He blames the date of today for not noticing her earlier. Not sensing her presence or feeling her eyes on him until this moment.

Perhaps he should be offended by the invasion of privacy, but finds that he isn't. After all, the fact that he is even here at all, is all thanks to her.

* * *

"I didn't know you came here too." She admits softly once he is standing in front of her.

It wasn't what she planned to say as an opening line, far from it, but she is too puzzled by this latest turn of events to say anything else. This is a new Chuck, a version of Chuck she doesn't know that well.

She has spent so much time being angry with what she thought was the 'old' Chuck, only to realize that he had indeed ceased to be that version of himself. And now she's come to see him, only to find him having changed again, grown more.

It hurts, but there is also a part of her – no matter how reluctant she is to admit it – that wants to laugh and throw her arms around his neck and tell him how proud she is, and that she understands how huge of a deal it is for him to be here. She doesn't though.

He doesn't reply at first, but as their eyes meet she can see the whirlwind of emotions hidden beneath his calm and collected appearance.

For the first time since she returned to New York – or since that dreaded night a long time ago – she looks into his eyes and really _sees_ him, and as he looks back at her so does he.

No anger or blasting hate is shielding their senses, rendering them blind to what is right there for both of them to see.

He isn't tirelessly keeping his walls intact and the mask in place and neither is she.

* * *

"…_this is your entire __**fucking **__fault!"_

_The words escaped his lips in a__combination of a hiss and a scream, as he paced back and forth in barely contained fury. He had been there a while now – pacing, yelling and cursing fierily – fuelled by more than a fair amount of alcohol._

"_You useless, pathetic, son of a bitch!" He continued, gesturing vividly as he marched back and forth continuously in the snow that was covering the now wilted grass._

"_This," He snapped and came to a halt, making a gesture towards himself, "is all your doing! You…"_

_An older couple__walking by gave him the most disapproving looks that reminded him of the unorthodox nature of his behaviour - but he only shot them a murderous glare in return._

"_You were never there when I needed you. Never!" He spat,__continuing with his tireless pacing and the menacing glares._

"_You fucked me up!__Now everything is shot to hell, and surprise! - You're still not here! This is your entire fault! And you have to fix this, because I don't know what to do!" He yelled and facing the dark, wet marble half-covered in snow he let out a frustrated roar._

_The feeling of defeat and loss was suddenly__overwhelming, and he found himself struggling to keep back the tears that started to burn in the corners of his eyes. It didn't matter that he was completely alone in the vast field, standing in front of a very inanimate headstone that was not likely to mock or comment on his lack of self-control. It didn't matter._

_For a while focused entirely on not__letting one of those treacherous drops of sorrow spill down his cheeks, he clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, his jaw set so hard it begun to ache._

_Then __he let out a ragged breath and his whole posture slumped._

"_I don't know what to do…"__He repeated once more, this time in a barely there whisper.._

"_Dad?__I need you to tell me what to do."_

* * *

Guilt. Sadness. Determination. Pride? Warmth?

It is all in her eyes, and he briefly looks away before he replies;

"What are you doing here?"

The question doesn't escape his lips in a sneer or a hateful growl - words produced with the lone intention to scorn and hurt – but in a tired and honestly curious tone.

* * *

_What are you doing here?_

Suddenly she isn't so sure anymore. Like that day in Central Park, the words aching to be said are too many and too important. Though this time she looks him straight in the eyes, hoping to find something there to give her the courage that she needs to swallow her pride and get what she came to say off her chest.

Confusion. Sadness. Hesitance. Curiosity? Warmth?

It is all in his eyes. Having found what she was searching for, she fills her lungs to the rim with oxygen, and braces herself for what is to come. Then, still looking him straight in the eyes;

"I am sorry."

The lump lodged in her throat grows bigger, making it hard to breathe, and she can feel it swell and reach her eyes.

But she refuses to cry. She has cried enough in front of him these last couple of weeks, and she doesn't deserve to this time. She is the villain in this chapter of the story, and crying now in this round of the game - that never really was a game to begin with - would be unfair.

"I am so sorry." She breathes and has to bite her lip to keep it from trembling while she waits for him to say something – anything – in return.

Seconds pass and she is beginning to feel light-headed, her breathing rapid and shallow.

Then he finally looks back at her, and nods in acceptance. The look in his eyes cancels out the harsh nature of the gesture.

* * *

He can feel something inside of him tug. Not snap and break the way it does when your world stops and the hurt cuts like a knife, but in the way two cogwheels are reconnected and something that was once broken is jolted back to life. He should probably offer her a scornful comment in reply. Make her grovel or simply refuse to accept her apology, but he doesn't.

He is too tired of this. Too tired of _them_ like this.

She is close to crying, he can tell. But she doesn't. Before she would have, be it six years ago or two weeks ago, there would have been tears pouring down her cheeks. Maybe not from knowing the effect it would have had on him, but from self-pity and loss of pride. She would have cried for her own sake.

But this time she doesn't cry, even when she has to bite her lip so hard the skin around her teeth turns white from the effort to hold it back.

"I am sorry too."

He is amazed by how collected he sounds. How every word that is coming out of his mouth is true and honest.

A wave of surprise flashes by in her tear-filled eyes, and then she nods, mimicking his gesture from earlier.

"I really am so sorry," She continues seconds later. "I should never have…"

"Don't." He interjects, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Not now."

She stops immediately, and he knows that she can tell how truly exhausted he is.

"Not now." He repeats. "Some other time."

"Yeah." She agrees. "Not today."

"Can I offer you a ride back?"

"You sure?"

No, not at all if he is to be completely honest. A negative answer to her question would have been the easy way out for him, and once again he finds himself astounded by this new Blair standing in front of him, offering him a way out.

"Yes, I am sure."

"Then yes, I would." She replies, offering him a hint of a smile.

They ride together in silence after he informs his driver of the new route. He finds himself glancing over at her constantly, eyeing her cautiously from the side.

She looks as exhausted as he feels, and equally at ease with the fact that the silence between them isn't screaming bloody murder.

When the limo comes to a stop outside her building, he is the first one to get out.

"So…" He begins, suddenly nervous.

"So" She replies, fidgeting with the shoulder strap of her bag. "I guess I should get going."

"Do you want to come to dinner tonight?"

Once again he seems to have no proper control over his own vocal chords. But on second thought he doesn't mind. When the corner of her lips tugs into a broader version of the hesitant smile from earlier, he is even more positive that actually - he doesn't care at all. Who needs brain-to-mouth coordination anyways?

"Not like…I don't know…" He stutters, and scolds himself inwardly. Maybe a _little_ control would be preferable after all. "Everyone's coming…Serena made the reservations."

"I'd like that." She admits. "I will call Serena and ask her for the details."

He nods in agreement before she turns and walks towards the entrance of the building. Right before he slams the door shut, he can hear her call out for him.

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy Birthday."

* * *

_tbc_


	22. The subtlety of friends

She is nervously pacing around her room, trying to get her hair to look just right but finding it hard since her hands are shaking like wilting leaves during an autumn storm. She has tried, to no avail, to tell herself repeatedly that she has nothing to be nervous about. She has had dinner with the van der Woodsens and Nate a million times.

_Forgetting someone?_

Alright, so maybe she does have a reason to be nervous, she decides, adjusting the belt around her waist. She can't help but wonder what is going to happen next, if she _wants_ anything to happen. Not knowing is a little unnerving, but with the lack of structure in her life right now she assumes a confused heart fits right in.

She scrutinizes her appearance in the mirror with standards set high from years of self-assessment. The look she gives her own reflection resembles Eleanor's frown so much that was she to realize, she would never look at herself in a mirror again. She has left her hair down so that it is flowing in dark ringlets down her back. The headband is covered in sparkling navy and charcoal embroidery. The grey Ralph Laurensilk,sheath dressfits her perfectly, and the fuchsia coloured belt accentuates her waist. Putting a stray lock of hair back in its place, she comes to the verdict that she doesn't look half-bad.

That right there is one of the more telling differences between herself and her mother. Even though she might not realize it, she is much more willing to approve and grant someone a second chance. Perhaps even a third chance, if that is what it takes to keep the story going towards the happy ending she never ceases to strive for. When second chances haven't been an option, she has had to re-group and re-strategize. She has learned the hard way how to piece herself - anything - back together, as well as mastering the art of payback. Get whoever it is that has done wrong by you to suffer and pay for their sins, and then let it go. Piece yourself back together and then look ahead. Look towards bigger and better things, don't look back.

Only recently has she realized that letting go isn't always possible, that some things run in circles and no matter how fast or for how long a time you run - you end up in the same place. Inevitability runs in circles.

* * *

He nods at the headwaiter as the man points him in direction of their table. Serena has chosen a newly opened, Italian restaurant not far from his building, and he has to compliment her on her choice. The large room, decorated in rich colours, is dimly-lit and has an inviting atmosphere. The place reminds him of a restaurant he took Blair to in Rome all those years ago, and he can't help but allow a smirk to form on his lips at the memory of that particular evening.

The van der Woodsens and Nate are already at their table, all four of them greeting him happily, but carefully avoiding the acknowledgement of the reason they are all there. Just the way he wants it. He is talking to Eric about nothing in particular when Al walks through the door holding a hideous Nemo-the-fish-shaped balloon.

Al is all smiles as she walks through the restaurant and finally ends up in front of him. Eric is desperately trying to smother a laugh in the background, and he can feel Al shake with contained laughter as she hugs him in greeting.

"You can probably find a Chuck E. Cheese a few blocks from here." He points out, and Al can no longer keep from laughing out loud.

"You should have seen your face when I walked through the door, mate!" Al laughs. "Priceless. Don't you like your present?"

"If there is a cake with candles, I will wish for a safety pin…" He informs her dryly and earns himself a jokingly horrified gasp in response. Then he spots something behind her that causes his heart to skip a beat.

She looks amazing. Her petite form wrapped in grey silk, and that mass of shiny curls cascading down her back. His fingers twitch involuntarily in a sudden urge to run his fingers through the tumbling locks.

* * *

She stops right inside the front door, for a second overwhelmed by the whirlwind of nervous fluttering in the pit of her stomach.

As she walks towards the table where the others are waiting, she notices how similar the place is to a restaurant her and Chuck went to in Rome. A flush colours her cheeks as she remembers the…rushed dinner they had shared after she presented him with a rather x-rated gift shoved inside his breast pocket. Only the influence of Chuck Bass would ever evoke the idea in her to go commando with the sole intention to drive him crazy. It has been a long time since she thought about those times without scowling, and the pleasant realization gives her the extra courage she needs to keep her heart from jumping out of her chest.

"Blair!" Serena and Lily greet her in unison, and Nate sends a mischievous wink her way as she makes her round around the table to greet her extended family.

"It is so lovely to see you," Lily smiles, and hugs her tight, "It has been too long."

She smiles a genuine smile in return. What Lily might have lacked in presence and parental guidance when Serena and Eric were growing up, she makes up for in acceptance and unconditional love. Something that extends to her and the other 'kids' as well, and for that she will always love the older van der Woodsen.

"How is the Major?" She winks, referring to the war-veteran that Lily has been seeing for the last year.

"John is good." Lily smiles, a twinkle in her eyes that make her appear to be at least ten years younger.

She greets Eric with a hug, and offers Al a court nod and hesitant smile that the redhead returns full force.

"I thought Italian food was appropriate." Serena whispers conspiringly, as they embrace in a hug.

The next thing she knows, she finds herself face to face with Chuck, a sudden tension in the air that no-one around the table fails to notice.

"Great minds think alike."

Chuck raises an eyebrow suggestively, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as he motions to the shirt vest he is wearing underneath his jacket that is close to tone-in-tone with her dress.

"I guess so." She smirks back, and he can almost hear the rest of the party breathe a sigh of relief at their friendly tone.

* * *

Once they are all seated the waiter arrives with their drinks and within the hour they are enjoying a delicious meal. The conversation is light hearted, everyone busy catching up. Almost everyone that is. He doesn't say much, he rarely does at these semi-official birthday dinners and everyone is used to it by now. Lily and the others are most likely relieved by the simple fact that he is eating and socializing instead of drinking himself into a stupor like he would have a few years ago. Blair isn't saying much either. She is seated between Eric and Serena across the table from where he is sitting himself with Al on one side and Lily on the other.

"Blair, how is the photographing coming?" Lily asks, her question earning Blair the full attention of everyone at the table.

Blair looks a little on edge from the older van der Woodsen's question, and shuffles some food around on her plate in an effort to stall her answer.

"You're a photographer?" Al interjects curiously, reaching out for her wine glass.

He is definitely listening now, remembering the camera she had been carrying around when they met in Central Park.

"It's just a pass-time." She finally replies, and he can tell that she is dying for a subject change. "I haven't really gotten much done since I…returned from Paris."

"She is really talented." Serena says to Al, shooting her best friend a look that tells her to stop being modest. "She took the photo hanging in my dining room."

"The black and white one?" Al raises an eyebrow inquisitively, then turning her attention to Blair. "That is an amazing photo, Blair."

He knows exactly what photo it is that Serena is referring to. He had been on her case about who the photographer was, wanting something like it to adorn the walls of the Palace's lobby. Serena had refused to tell him though, saying that the artist wasn't interested in publicity. Looking over to Blair, he can't help but wonder what else he has been missing out on. What else there is that he doesn't know about her.

She is uncomfortable with the turn of conversation, and sneakily manages to steer it in a different direction by bringing up the bridesmaids dresses. The reminder of her up-coming nuptials has Serena smiling even broader than earlier and the conversation shifts over to the wedding details. As Serena and Lily engage in a vivid discussion about centre pieces, Nate lets out a weary sigh that causes both Eric and Chuck to chuckle and give him looks telling the blond that he brought this on himself.

Pleased with the subject change she briefly looks over to Chuck, the sound of him laughing catching her attention. She is surprised when she finds that he is looking at her. He is still smirking and she finds herself doing the same.

* * *

"It is such a lovely night," Al sighs happily as they leave the restaurant later on. A mischievous spark in her eyes as she and Serena share a quick look.

"It is. Perfect for a walk." Serena agrees, "Eric, you're staying at mom's, right?"

"Yeah?" Eric nods in reply, obviously confused with his sister's sudden interest in his accommodations.

"Great, then the two of you can take the limo, right Chuck? You live less than fifteen minutes from here and you could use the exercise." Serena continues, hiding the grin on her face by facing Nate and picking some invisible dust particle off of his lapel. Chuck scoffs at her allegation but doesn't object.

"I can share a cab with you guys," Al proclaims, talking to Nate and Serena, and the blonde nods vigorously in agreement.

"Blair, dear?" Lily interrupts the conversation, looking over to Blair warmly. "You can ride in the limo with us."

"She is going in the other direction," Serena cuts in quickly, "Think about the environment mom, you don't want there to be an ozone hole above Manhattan because you have the limo drive all over town on a daily basis, do you?"

"Surely that is not something that you wish for?" Al agrees, and Serena is nearly pushing her mother towards the waiting limo. Lily is unable to do much except offering Blair an apologetic and utterly confused look.

Within the minute they find themselves alone on the sidewalk. The limo taking off down the street, and the cab door closing with a bang.

"They really need to work on the whole 'subtle' exits." He smirks, but it doesn't fully reach his eyes, the tension and nervousness from when she arrived to the restaurant earlier having returned full force.

"Oh my, I do believe we are heading in the same direction." She replies in feigned astonishment, and they get moving down the street.

The evening is unusually quiet for New York, the sidewalks nearly empty. People are either on their way home, or not on their way out just yet. Once they find themselves moving some of the tension eases off, and they soon walk side by side in a comfortable silence.

Unexpectedly, he causally slides her hand into his. She turns and gazes up at him in shock at the openly affectionate gesture, and he looks down at her - eyebrow raised - as if daring her to question his actions and asking for permission at the same time.

She consents without putting much thought into it, and intertwines her fingers with his.

They are right outside her building when she stops, tightening her grip of his hand in a silent plea for him to do the same. He does, and looks down at her, noticing the slight frown now on her forehead, the trembling of her lip.

"How do you do it?" She whispers, and all he wants to do in that second is make that look on her face disappear and never return.

"Do what?"

"How can you even look at me?" Her voice is close to breaking, and she swallows hard, looking down on their entwined fingers.

"I'm not sure." He admits, following her gaze down to where their hands are linked together. All he knows is that this feels right. Walking next to her in the warm, tranquil New York night and holding her hand feels right.

"Would you meet me at the Palace tomorrow night?" He asks her, "We should…talk."

"Yeah…" She agrees, sounding relieved and in less distress now. "…we should."

She looks over to the entrance of her building, taking a step back. Slowly she starts to untangle their fingers, but he tightens his grip and she looks up at him in confusion.

She begins to ease her fingers out of his hold, ignoring the part of her that is screaming like a petulant child in protest. When he only tightens his grip even more she looks up at him, opening her mouth to say something but then changing her mind.

He offers her a lazy smirk, and then slowly, hesitantly, lets go of her hand only to place his own on her cheek instead. Her breath catches in her throat, and the skin on her cheek is reveling in the warmth from his palm. For a moment she feels that he might kiss her. The idea has her lips tingling in silent anticipation and renders her insides to a whirlwind of mixed emotions. She finds herself struggling between the urge to lean into his touch, and the one to flinch and take a step back.

But he doesn't kiss her. Instead he softly brushes the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, the rest of his fingers teasing the sensitive skin below her ear and jaw line. His dark eyes stay fixated on her the whole time.

"Goodnight Blair." He murmurs; his words as soft as his touch.

"Goodnight, Chuck. Happy Birthday."

He looks a little taken aback by her words, as if had he forgotten all about the day's significance.

"It was." He muses, before he turns around to leave, shoving his hands down his pockets. "Thank you."

* * *

_tbc_


	23. Dating

"I really messed up, didn't I?"

She is sitting across the table from him, looking at him from under furrowed brows. The sound of people moving around and talking in the bar is creating a cocoon of noise just loud enough to allow a private conversation to be held in the booth where they are seated. A big part of him is incredibly uncomfortable with the entire conversation. Being completely honest and baring your soul is never something you do with a shrug of your shoulder. No, you do it with your heart beating furiously in your chest and the feeling of standing on the edge of a cliff on trembling legs. When you do it in front of the only person who never doubted you to have a soul in the first place, the feeling is even greater. He thinks her question over for a second or two before answering, sliding his finger along the rim of the tumbler. Trying to decide on whether or not to keep the mask intact, or take yet another step closer to the edge of the cliff.

"Yes." He decides on the truth, and as he does, diverts his eyes from his glass and looks straight at her. The crushed look on her face is gut-wrenching, and he has to tell himself more than once that she actually did mess up to keep from taking it back. But still. "You weren't the only one."

"But you…" She begins; seemingly hesitant to say whatever it is she wants to say out loud, "…you didn't…cheat on me."

"No, I didn't."

There is harshness in his voice at that, because that particular notion is ludicrous to him. So far from anything he would ever have considered.

"I can't believe I thought you did…" She whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. Her fingers dance around the foot of her glass, the deep red of her nail polish a colourful contrast to the dark wood of the table and her delicate martini glass.

"Would you have, if I hadn't said what I did that time in the café?"

He finally asks the question he has needed to ask her, and that way earns up to his 18 year-old self's biggest regret. She looks a little caught off guard by his question, and has a sip of her martini before answering.

"No, I probably wouldn't have." She admits, and it is his turn to feel bad. "…I wish I could say I didn't…with that guy."

The guilt quickly leaves his system when she reminds him of what happened next. The door to that particular memory usually closed. The heavy door bolted shut with growling guard dogs keeping intruders at bay.

"I really am sorry," She breathes, "I'm so, so sorry, Chuck."

"Yeah," He sighs, forgoing rancour. She has always been the one to veto any kind of reaction that would have been expected from him, maybe this time even justified. "Me too."

* * *

**From: Al**

So, how was your date with Blair?

**From: Fish**

Is there a bartender I need to fire?

**From: Al**

You admit it was a date then?

**From: Fish**

I admit to no such thing.

Who told you anyway?

**From: Al**

Wild guess, that's all.

Are you guys back together yet?

**From: Al**

Fish?

**From: Al**

The silent treatment, really?

**From: Al**

Killjoy!

* * *

"I went by your office to ask you to lunch, but your secretary said you were out." Serena's voice informs him over the phone.

"I do eat lunch outside the walls of my office occasionally. Now, if you don't mind…"

"She said some brunette came to see you, and then the two of you left together."

He can literally hear the smile in Serena's voice. Blair mouths the blonde's name in a silent question and he nods in confirmation.

"Did she now?" He drawls, remembering that he actually does have to respond in one way or the other.

"Oh, my, God!" Serena shrieks, and Blair rolls her eyes as she catches the blonde's exclamation even from across the table.

"You're having lunch with Blair!"

"Damn, sis." He growls, wincing from the sheer volume of her cry. "You really should come with a mute button."

"You're totally having lunch together, that is awes…"

He resolutely snaps his phone shut, interrupting his ranting sister halfway through her sentence, but his mind completes her words for him.

_This is awesome._

* * *

"How did you get into photography?"

They are halfway through dinner on Saturday, and his question has her caught off guard.

"I signed up for a class at Yale after we…"

"Right." He nods as she trails off.

Tension shows its ugly face once again, but only briefly. The intensity of those awkward moments has eased off a great deal in the last couple of days, but the reason has yet to vanish completely.

He is looking at her, clearly expecting her to elaborate on her answer and she decides to comply.

"I just…like it, I guess." She explains, not entirely sure how to put it into words. "It's fun, and you can do a lot of different things once you know the basics…play around, capture moments. Photographs are just…"

"Constant."

His choice of words surprises her because he is spot on. Leave it up to Chuck to have her nailed down and understand exactly how she is thinking. The realization sends a wave of relief and excitement through her system. Suddenly she remembers exactly how easy things used to be when they were together: comfortable and exciting and perfect.

"I've seen the one you gave Serena," He tells her, mentioning the photograph Serena told Al about during dinner a few nights ago. "That is an amazing photograph, Blair."

Her name sounds so right rolling off his tongue. What he thinks or says has always mattered more than anyone else's words or opinions.

"Really?"

"Yes," He smirks, casually leaning back in his chair. "Really."

* * *

"I've always liked the original better," She says, and effectively snaps him out of his thoughts. She is referring to Ocean's Eleven, the Rat Pack original they have just spent the last two hours watching in an empty movie theatre. She had rented out the entire place, and made sure they showed a movie of her choice. And she had chosen _his_ favourite movie, but not forgetting to inform him that next time they would be watching Audrey. He hadn't been paying much attention to what she had been saying though, stuck on the fact that she had said 'next time'.

"Like those wannabes have anything to put up against Sinatra and the others," He scoffs, and she smiles.

They are walking the short distance from the movie theatre to his building. They have taken up the habit of walking together since the dinner a week ago. Tonight she had merely slipped her hand in his as they exited the movie theatre. He on his part just motioned the limo to follow them.

"I should get you home," he offers as they arrive outside of his building, even though his entire being is telling him to do whatever it takes to make sure she doesn't go home, but follows him upstairs.

"You have that conference call early tomorrow," She objects, turning so that she is facing him. "But I will accept the offer of borrowing your sacred limo." She winks, and he smirks.

The two of them in a limo together might not be the best thing right now. Neither of them have ever been the kind of person to be patient, unless scheming is involved, but they have reached some kind of silent, mutual agreement that this, whatever _this_ is, is a slow work in progress. A process that would most likely speed up substantially inside the limo where something that had been a long time coming took off at last, all those years ago.

"Alright." He agrees, and he can tell that she knows how he has been reasoning.

He lets go of her hand reluctantly, ignoring the twitchy feeling in his fingers that tells him to hold on and not let go.

"Hold on," She whispers, "Your tie…"

She steps closer, and his breath catches in his throat as a waft of her perfume hits his nostrils. There is mischief in her eyes as she slowly reaches out, and tugs at his tie to adjust the silk. She is so close now that he can feel her hot breath against his skin, and he has to ball his hands into fists to keep from reaching out and pulling her close, giving in to the feelings flooding his system. Her lips brush against the skin of his neck, right above the pulse point, and then along his jaw line. His heart is in his throat, and she is still holding on to his tie with both hands. When her lips leave his skin, a voice at the back of his head is whining from the loss of contact, still he doesn't dare move in fear he might ruin the magic of the moment. Then suddenly her mouth is a fraction of an inch away from his. Their eyes meet, and he is captivated by what he finds there. She slowly brushes her lips against his, and he is freefalling.

"All straightened out." She smirks, and steps back, letting go of his tie as she does. "Good luck tomorrow." She finishes, but he is speechless and can't seem to form any kind of response.

Her smirk widens, and she briefly rests her hand on his cheek before she turns around and sashays towards the limo. The last thing he hears before the limo door slams shut is a sultry 'Goodnight, Chuck. Sweet dreams.'

He can well imagine what his dreams will entail, and if he is right they will be anything but 'sweet'.

* * *

**From: Blair**

I had a good time last night.

**From: Chuck**

I bet you did.

**From: Blair**

Always the modest gentleman.

**From: Chuck**

That is what you lo-

_Oh hell no, where did that one come from?_ His heart is in his throat until he realizes that he has managed to stop typing before finishing and accidentally pushing the 'send' button. He glares at the part of a four letter word that is not even close to spelled out, and then carefully deletes the reply before starting over.

**From: Chuck**

Modesty is overrated.

**From: Blair**

You're preaching to the choir.

"Blair? Who are you texting?"

"Huh?" She slowly diverts her gaze from the screen of her phone, where Chuck's latest message just popped up.

**From: Chuck**

Dinner tomorrow, my place.

.

"Blair?" Serena laughs, "You are texting him aren't you? You are texting _Chuck_!"

She raises a haughty eyebrow in her best friend's direction, and the blonde lets out a squeal of joy.

"I do have other acquaintances in this town, you know."

"You should see the look on your own face! "You're _smiling_, B!" Serena goes on, ignoring the attempted brush-off.

"It has been known to happen before."

"Smirks and sneers don't count." Serena laughs, "That was a _smile_, a real one. Because of Chuck. Ah! This is so great!"

"Breathe, S. You're going to have an aneurysm if you don't calm down."

**.**

**From: Blair**

I'll be there.

* * *

_tbc_


	24. Dance with me

The fluttering in her stomach is not of the nervous kind, but she still has a hard time keeping herself from pacing around the elevator on her way up to his penthouse. She hasn't been here since that first time two weeks ago when she showed up on his doorstep to…whatever it was, fuming in anger but aching for him all at once.

_A lot of things have changed_, she reminds herself, checking her reflection in the mirror to make sure she looks her best. _A lot has changed and for the better_.

The doors of the elevator open with a merry 'ding', and reveal the apartment on the other side of the stainless steel. The hallway opens up into the living room stretching out in front of her, a corridor to her right that leads to bedrooms and bathrooms. On the same level as the entrance, but to her left, is the kitchen area. It's not a huge place by UES standards, but it's spacious, modern and surprisingly home-y.

"Blair!" Chuck greets her, walking towards where she is standing from the back of the living room.

"Hey. This place looks great." she smiles, swallowing to rid herself of the sudden dryness in her throat from the sight of him. His arm around her waist sends a wave of heat through her body, and his cheek against hers does nothing to ease the feeling.

"_You_ look great," he murmurs, his breath hot against her ear.

* * *

She is wearing red. He has always loved her in red, almost as much as with noting on at all. After pulling her close and telling her how good she looks, he has to force himself to let her go.

"I thought we could have dinner outside," he suggests, and gestures towards the door leading out to the terrace. The outdoor area is visible through a majority of the large windows in the living room, and stretches around two quarters of the penthouse. When she casually slides her hand in his as they walk through the living room area, he can feel his heart skip a beat.

"Wow," she breathes as they step out onto the terrace, "Chuck this is amazing."

The place is illuminated by hundreds of twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the terrace rail and in the small trees and plants adorning the space. The view of the city is spectacular in the dark, and there is a table set for two waiting for them.

"You won't get too cold? I could have the table moved inside."

"No!" She objects hastily, and then smiles, "This is perfect."

A uniform-clad caterer shows up with a tray holding flutes of champagne. They accept their drinks, and the man leans in to whisper something to Chuck. He nods in agreement to whatever it is the man is telling him, and then sends him off with a hefty tip, before returning his attention to her.

"Waldorf," he raises his class in salute, and she clinks her glass against his.

"Bass."

* * *

"I'm leaving for Beijing tomorrow."

They are midway through dinner accompanied by relaxed small talk. She distracts herself from her delicious meal to look at him. To her surprise she feels a little disappointed by this latest piece of information.

_You're going to miss him._

"Because of the new deal?" She asks, piercing some pasta on her fork, and he nods in affirmation. She knows how hard he has been working when he hasn't been spending time with her, and almost feels guilty for keeping him from his work. "For how long?"

"A week. We leave at lunch tomorrow."

"Tell me about the deal?"

"It's not really that interesting," he objects apologetically, taking a sip from his wine glass.

"Tell me," she repeats calmly, "I want to know about it."

_I want to know everything about you._

He acts upon her request, and tells her all about the deal he recently signed with his new Chinese investors. She listens carefully, offering him a comment or smile every now and then, but mostly focusing on him as he talks. His face light up, his gestures become more vivid and the tone of his voice changes. Suddenly an image of a 16 year-old Chuck showing off Victrola resurfaces in her mind, and she smiles at the memory. He is good at this, she realizes, just like she had known he would be.

* * *

"This is so good." She sighs with her eyes closed, putting another fork of tiramisu in her mouth. Opening her eyes again she finds a spellbound look on his face and sends him a questioning look. "What?"

"Dance with me."

"There's no music, Chuck." She replies, and he only raises an eyebrow at her in challenge, and then walks over to a small table just outside the door. Seconds later music fills the air around them from speakers hidden somewhere on the terrace.

"Dance with me." He repeats, returning to the table and extending his hand to her.

This time she puts her hand in his and allows him to pull her close. They dance, swaying leisurely back and forth to the music, and she loses all track of time. The only thing she can focus on is the feeling of having him close; his hand at the small of her back, his heart beating against her chest. When he lets go of her hand, and cradles her head instead, she pulls her head back to look at him. There is intentness burning in his eyes, and his heated gaze sets a fire ablaze in her gut.

When their lips meet it's tantalizingly slow and enticing. Breathing a sigh of relief and bliss, she tilts her head to allow him better access and her hand's grip on his shoulder tightens. Without the anger and the fiery passion there as a shield protecting her heart, she can feel herself slowly falling, tumbling over the edge. Kissing him feels like coming home, it is a paradox; familiar and safe, alluring and dangerous. It's terrifying.

The content, pleased breath escaping her lips is like the first drops of rain in a desert. He wants more, needs more. Needs to make her his in the way he never fully stopped belonging to her. They way he wants her to never have stopped belonging to him. When she angles her head in silent welcome, he deepens the kiss, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue. He can feel a fire starting to glow in the pit of his stomach, and his hands start a voyage of familiar territory. The whimper escaping her lips is as effective as hitting a light switch inside his head, tempting him to take the last step off the cliff and out into thin air. Then suddenly she pulls back and breaks off the kiss.

"Chuck," She breathes, her hand still clutching his shoulder so tight her fingernails are bound to leave marks in his skin.

He rests his forehead against hers and briefly closes his eyes, doesn't want to hear what comes next. Bracing himself for the inevitable, he then opens his eyes and meets her gaze. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are swollen, but there is lucidity in her eyes that he prefers to ignore.

"We can't do this." She continues, but her fingers dig into his shoulder as if to tell him not to believe her, and he doesn't want to listen either.

"But we do it so well," he drawls, and before she knows it his lips are on hers again.

Her body's reaction is instant and complying, but her mind has been harshly brought out of blissful nothingness and she can't let it go.

"No." She forces herself to break off the kiss once again and step back, even though her body is tingling and aching for his touch, "Chuck, we have to stop. It's too soon."

"Why?" There is a hint of steel in his eyes now, and he pulls a hand through his hair exasperatedly. "Don't you want this?

"What exactly is 'this'?"

* * *

She doesn't answer his question, but throws one right back at him. Rejection is creeping up on him like a cold, steel chain around his chest, pinning him to the edge he was about to leap off of moments ago.

"Do we have to start analyzing things _now_?"

"Yes!" She snaps. There is a tremor in her voice that wasn't there before, and she is running her hands up and down her arms as if she is suddenly freezing cold. "I need to know, Chuck. What are we doing? What is this?"

"I don't know!" He bites back. "Can't we just let it happen?"

"No!"

"Why the hell not?"

Her whole posture changes then, deflates like a child's balloon pricked by a pin. "Because I have nothing left!"

Her last argument puzzles him, and when a tear makes its way down her cheek he is horrified, guilt washing over him in waves. He steps closer to reach out and pull her into his arms, but she takes a step back. Away from him. The chain around his chest tightens its grip and makes it hard to breathe.

"You all have lives. You have jobs, things to do and stuff going on," She explains and determinately wipes the tears off her face. "My life is in shambles. This," she motions the space between the two of them, "is the only real thing in my life right now. I need to know what it is I'm getting myself into, because if we mess this up…I'm not sure I could pick up the pieces again."

Her explanation makes him want to whack himself over the head with something blunt and heavy, because it all makes so much sense. Her return and this thing between them have turned everything upside down for him too. Shaken his uncomplicated and easy-going existence like a child shakes a rattle.

There is still a part of him that reacts to trouble and feelings and unknown territory by going back to the basics and being 'Chuck Bass'. It's the role he knows by heart from years of experience; it takes no afterthought, no questioning your decisions, no thinking about your…_feelings_. 'Chuck Bass' focuses on the simple things in life; women, booze and more women. Though she is not just any random date, never have and never will be. And the two of them have never been uncomplicated and simple, far from it. But he doesn't _want_ uncomplicated when she is around, and he can't let 'Chuck Bass' call the shots this time.

"You're right," he agrees, "We need to figure this out."

Relief washes over her features and he pulls her close, feeling the steel chain loosen its suffocating embrace around his chest.

"Thank you," She whispers, and kisses him softly. His response is immediate and hungry and when they finally break apart moments later they are both breathing heavily.

"Thank you?" He is the first to recover, eyes glittering in amusement, "You're thanking me for not sleeping with you? Now that is a serious punch to a man's ego, Waldorf."

She lets out a breathy laugh, "Well, we both know that if we had, you would have been the one thanking me."

* * *

_tbc_


	25. Not even close to flowers

_Maybe it's time for one of those __**Disclaimer**__s again, just in case. _

_I own nothing but the plot._

* * *

"Oh my God! Fish, come look!"

The mane of red hair and the ecstatic cry, in an accent more prominent than ever from her bright mood, is gone and silent before he barely has time to register her presence in the doorway. He looks up from the files on his desk in confusion; at the doorway that is now empty, and for a second considers that he might have imagined it all.

"Come on, mate!" Al pokes her head back in and shoots him a highly impatient look, "You have _got_ to see this!"

"Al?"

Okay, so he is stating the obvious, but he is leaving for Beijing in less than one hour and is still trying to make sure every single piece of very important document is packed. Seeing Al in the doorway of his office, looking like a child on Christmas morning, wasn't part of the plan. He is still standing behind his desk when Al's voice is heard from outside, impatient as ever;

"Fish! Come on! Get your ass out here already!"

* * *

"Are you freaking kidding me, mate?" It is Al's turn to look absolutely dumbfounded, and he narrows his eyes threateningly at her shocked reaction.

"What?"

Al keeps staring at him, though the astonished look on her face is slowly being replaced with a huge grin. Then, without warning, she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him into an enthusiastic, sideward hug, jumping and squealing.

"Hey, watch it!" He sneers, shrugging away from her embrace to protect the bundle in his hands. But for some reason he has a hard time getting the dismissal to sound even remotely hostile. He has to inhale slowly, reminding himself that he is _Chuck Bass_ for fuck's sake, and half his staff is watching him. He will not be seen grinning like some fool. He sends the audience a threatening glare that doesn't scare them off at all. Forced to surrender, he drags Al with him back inside his office, and closes the door behind them.

"Stop frowning like that, you'll get wrinkles," Al beams, keeping a firm grip of his arm. "Seriously, Fish. She has got you _hooked_!"

"Please," he scoffs. "You are exaggerating."

Al only rolls her eyes at his remark, still unable to keep the grin off her face.

"Exaggerating?" She laughs, "I've known you for years, and I think I've seen you buy flowers for a date like, twice, if even that."

"So?"

"This is not even _close_ to flowers," Al laughs, looking down at the bundle in his hands. "This is wicked! I have to tell Serena!"

"Like hell you will." He narrows his eyes at her, and Al has the decency to look at least a little guilty. Her reaction makes him hesitate, doubting his decision, and he is suddenly unsure if this is the right thing to do. _She'll like it, right?_

"Blair will be over the moon, Fish" Al reassures him as if she had been reading his mind. Her Cheshire grin has faded to something less creepy and obnoxious.

"You think?"

"Yes," Al smiles, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Who wouldn't be?"

* * *

She is contemplating calling Serena to ask the blonde to lunch, or try and find herself someplace where she can develop some of the film she has lying on her vanity, when the elevator signals someone's arrival.

"Ms. Blair! A guest for you!" Dorota calls out for her.

"Who is it?" She asks the maid as they meet on her way to the elevator, but Dorota only smiles in reply.

The person she finds waiting for her in the elevator is not someone she expected to see.

"Ms. Waldorf," Chuck's driver nods politely, not pretending to notice her dumbfounded expression. "Mr. Bass asked of me to deliver this to you."

He hands her a small white envelope, which she accepts after a second's hesitation. Expecting him to leave, she is surprised to find that the driver is making no move to leave. He simply motions for her to open the letter, and she does so on silence,

**Blair,**

**She reminded me of you,**

**Chuck**

_She?_

Frowning she looks back at the driver who is patiently waiting for her to finish reading. _Who is she?_ Blair can feel a shiver run down her spine, old insecurities resurfacing and leaving a tiny know of fear in her chest.

"Is there anything else?" She sneers, and to her surprise the driver bends down and retrieves something from outside her line of vision. It is a cardboard box, not much bigger than a shoebox. The driver hands her the box, and she accepts it tentatively. It looks strange, and now that she peeks at it more closely she can see that there are holes in the cardboard too. To say that she is confused would be an understatement.

"Have a good day, Ms Waldorf." The driver nods, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"Thank you," She manages to choke out in reply. Then the box stirs in her hands, and her attention is no longer focused on the closing doors of the elevator.

Her heart is beating a mile a minute as she drops to her knees, carefully putting the box down on the floor. It is still stirring slightly from something moving inside of it. The thing moving around inside the box creates a scratching sound, and then there is a muffled sound from inside the box.

_It couldn't be, could it?_

Biting her lip, she slowly opens the lid of the box. A pair of bright, green eyes - wide in alarm - look back at her.

"Oh, my, God!"

* * *

"Blair? Where are you?" Serena calls out as she comes running into the living room. "What's the emergency? Are you…"

The blonde is cut off at the sight of her sitting on the floor with a tiny bundle cradled in her lap. Letting out a delighted sigh, Serena kneels beside her and gives her a look of both relief and awe.

"Don't wake her up," Blair admonishes calmly, barely having dared to breathe over the last twenty minutes.

"She's so precious!" Serena smiles and slowly reaches out to touch the kitten's black, silky fur. Careful not to wake the tiny thing who is sleeping soundly in Blair's lap.

"Isn't she?" Blair smiles, "Her name's Princess."

"Where did you get her from?" Serena asks, carefully patting the sleeping kitten on the head with her index finger. "You just woke up this morning and decided to get a cat?"

"I didn't," She objects, carefully changing her position in a vain attempt to get some blood back in her legs. "She was a gift."

"A gift? From who? Cyrus?"

"No," She can barely keep from grinning, and keeps her eyes fixated on the kitten in her lap. Her _something_. It's not a glorious career, or an engagement, but it's something perfect and precious that is only hers. And he gave her that. She can feel a blush coloring her cheeks, and knows that Serena has noticed too when the blonde gasps and covers her mouth with her hand, eyeing her in shock.

"Chuck got you a kitten?" Serena gasps. Disbelief and something else, something oddly proud, in her voice. When Blair looks back at her, Serena's look moulds into one of pure joy. "B, he gave you a kitten. Chuck! A _kitten_!"

She rolls her eyes at her friend's surprise, but can't help but grin. When Serena breaks out laughing she is quick to follow.

* * *

**To: Chuck**

Dude, seriously, a kitten?

You make me look bad.

**To: Nathaniel**

Most people do when compared to me.

* * *

The fourth day in a row that he wakes up and immediately ticks off another day in his head, he realizes something. Or rather, he comes to the conclusion that there is no turning back now, so he might as well stop faking indifference. He has been convincing himself that he has been inches from the edge of the cliff, almost but not quite ready to tumble over the edge, when the truth is that he never stopped falling in the first place. He jumped off that cliff of indifference years ago, and nothing has broken his fall yet.

He says the words out loud, in the privacy of his hotel room, and smiles. The smile lasts a full two seconds. Then the feeling of having a steel chain around his chest becomes a sharp contrast to the happy fluttering in his gut. Old insecurities and fears resurface - the feelings that still have him reaching for the edge even when it is horribly out of reach, and has been so for a long time. What if she doesn't come to the same conclusion? What if she decides they're not worth it?

_Well __then, you'll just have to change her mind._

* * *

Something is wrong. Everything is the way it always is, the way it has been since she returned from Paris. Even though she has Princess to keep her company - and keep her up at night - there is still something that feels wrong. Something is missing.

It takes a couple of days for her to realize what, exactly, it is that's missing. Or rather, it takes her a couple of days to allow the truth to cross her mind: it isn't something that is missing, it's _someone_.

"I miss your daddy, P." She whispers to the kitten. Her feline friend pays her no attention, busy chasing after the piece if string she is dragging along the floor. The play lasts for a while longer, but soon the kitten's attacks and jumps becomes less energetic, and soon she finds herself a resting place in Blair's lap.

"Do you think he misses us too?" She asks, stroking the kitten's soft, charcoal fur and smiling at the purring sound the cat lets out in reply.

_I hope he does._

* * *

_tbc_


	26. Interrupted

"You're back."

Her voice interrupts his inspection of the latest stock ratings, and his gaze immediately sways from the papers in his hand. She is standing in the door, leaning causally against the doorframe. The rush of excitement is instant and overwhelming.

"I am." He replies and he gets to his feet, though he doesn't walk up to her. He is suddenly nervous, doesn't know where to put his hands, and he doesn't like it. Slowly he moves so that he is standing in front of his desk, leaning leisurely against the dark wood and shoving his hands down his pockets to keep from fidgeting.

"I can't believe you got me a kitten."

"It might have been a little too much," he begins, "If you don't,"

"No," she cuts him off with a soft smile. "She's perfect, thank you."

* * *

He relaxes visibly in front of her eyes, and all she wants to do is stride across the room and throw her arms around him. Her heart is pounding in her chest and he looks so good and she has _missed_ him

"You're welcome. So?"

"So," she repeats, and decides that there is no turning back now. She has made up her mind. "Remember how I said that it was too soon?" She doesn't bother with specifying what she means by 'it', they both know exactly what this conversation is all about.

He cocks an eyebrow in a way that says 'yes I do know', and she continues;

"I was wrong. It wasn't too soon, it was too late."

* * *

Momentarily confused he can feel his lungs begin constrict painfully. She's wrong, she has to be. He won't let her get away. He is about to object, but then he notices that she doesn't look cold or distant. No, she's standing there with a small smile playing on her lips.

"Years too late, actually." She points out, and has to work hard not to jump up and down with excitement as walks up to him. "We should never have stopped in the first place."

The context of what she is saying hits him, and he pushes off the desk and walks up to meet her. He stops right in front of her, so close they are almost touching. The air between them charged with something so strong it almost feels touchable.

"Is that so?" He smirks, and in that second she understands that she won't have to fight this time, that they're on the same page. The relief and joy surging through her body is overwhelming.

"Yes," she agrees distractedly, trying to feign disinterest. She reaches out and wraps her fingers around the lapels of his suit, the material soft against her skin, and brushes some invisible lint away. Then she can't keep a straight face any longer, and shots him a mischievous smile, "So what are you waiting for, Bass?"

She tugs impatiently at the lapels of his jacket, and that is all the encouragement he needs. In one swift movement his lips find hers and his hands find her way into her hair. They kiss and it's familiar and thrilling all at once. No fear, no games and no hurt.

* * *

This is all he'll ever need. Her lips are so soft against his, so welcoming and so _right_. The only word echoing in his head is 'home'.

They reluctantly break off the kiss, their foreheads still touching. She is smiling and he is grinning back at her because 'Chuck Bass' or not, there is no way he could keep a straight face. For a moment lost in being young and crazy in love he picks her up and swirls her around, his grin broadening when she lets out a very un-Blair giggle. Then her legs wrap around his waist and the mood changes instantly. Her lips find his again; their kiss deepens and once again becomes the main focus. Stumbling blindly, she is all he can see, he ends up putting her down on the desk to be able to touch her the way he wants.

She is laughing breathily as he stumbles, but the sound quickly dies in her throat as he puts her down on the desk and his lips find her neck.

* * *

She has been thinking and thinking for the last days, and now she is sick of thinking. She wants to _act_. His hands are making light work of her yellow blouse, eager to find the skin hidden underneath. She is about to object, a part of her mind still reasonable, but then his tongue replaces his hands and she stops thinking all together. Her legs still wrapped around him tighten their hold, and pull him closer, her hands finding their way into his hair.

_More._Her sounds of encouragement, her hands tugging impatiently at his tie and the buttons of his shirt, are rapidly extinguishing all traces of reason from his mind.

* * *

The smell of her skin, the familiarity of her perfume, is intoxicating. He is savoring in the feel of her skin, pleased that he has managed to get her out of some of the hindering layers of expensive clothing. She is still working on the buttons of his shirt, having a hard time unbuttoning the line of tiny buttons with trembling fingers. Frustrated he pauses from trailing patters down her spine to help, catching her eyes and sharing a brief grin before they're back to kissing.

With joint forces they succeed in unbuttoning his shirt, and soon she is impatiently tugging it free from the waistline of his pants. Then her hands are on his skin, her nails scraping against the planes of his back. A groan escaping him as she inches closer to him, arching her hips and sending sparks racing down his spine with the friction she is creating.

Done with being patient, or at least as patient as he'll ever be around her, he grabs her hips and pulls her flush against his body when they are suddenly interrupted.

"Holy crap!"

* * *

The voice coming from the door immediately snaps her back to reality, and she could feel Chuck freeze mid-movement too. The realization that she is almost lying on top of a desk, not exactly fully dressed and with Chuck leaning over her, hits her like a wall of bricks. Feeling her face go crimson red she glances over to the door in some masochistic desire to really make it beyond questioning that they are no longer alone.

"Sorry!" Al shrieks, sounding almost as mortified as Blair is feeling, and covers her eyes.

"Out," Chuck growls, pulling off of her and moving so that he's covering her semi-clad form from sight as she sits up and quickly starts buttoning up her blouse.

"Right," Al nods behind her hand, and Blair can hear the smile in the redhead's voice as Al swiftly backs out of the office and closes the door.

Finished buttoning up her blouse, she accepts the hand he holds out for her and slides off the desk, keeping her eyes rooted on the floor the entire time, a blush still coloring her cheeks a deep shade of red.

"Hey," he murmurs, interlacing their fingers and pulling her closer. He too has arranged his clothes into a less informal style. She doesn't look at him, too busy wishing for the ground to swallow her whole, and he puts a finger under her chin to tilt her face up toward him. "You okay there, Waldorf? You look a little flushed?"

He has the nerve to chuckle, and her eyebrows knit together in displeasure.

"It's not funny!"

* * *

"Oh, but it is a little funny," he smiles. He can't seem to stop from grinning like a fool despite how certain parts of his anatomy are screaming with disappointment.

She huffs in response and swats his arm. But she can't stay mad for long and they're back to lazy kisses when there is a very obvious knock on the door. He calls out in reply, and Al comes back in the room.

"Well?" He frowns in mock offence, and Al offers him a remorseful smile.

"Sorry Fish. Blair." Al mumbles, but then she can't keep a straight face anymore, and grins; "But this time won't require therapy!"

He narrows his eyes at that, but he can't stop from lightening up quickly, and Al notices. Commenting on his unusual light-heartedness with a mischievous smirk. Blair looks between the two of them in confusion, furrowing her brows.

"Do you have a habit of entertaining women in your office, Bass?" She questions him dryly, but doesn't really seem upset at all.

"She needs to learn how to knock," he avoids the question smoothly, but he knows that she can tell what he is doing. But she smiles, and gently squeezes his hand.

"I should go," she continues, and it is his turn to tighten his grip of her hand, because he doesn't want to let her go quite yet. Though he has a ton of work to do and he knows he won't get anything done with her around.

Still he has to kiss her one more time and pulls her close. She comes to him eagerly, and melts into his arms. He is not sure he'll ever get used to this, to her being back in his arm and her lips back against his. A polite cough interrupts their administrations, and he reluctantly pulls back.

"Get a room," Al laughs, still standing in the doorway.

"We had a room, then you showed up," He points out and earns himself a laugh, then he returns his attention to the brunette next to him, "See you tonight? I should be finished by six."

The promises her eyes hold as she nods are enough to have the muscles in his stomach tightening in anticipation.

* * *

_tbc_


	27. House tour

To say that the rest of his day went by in a blur would have been a ridiculous understatement. Her scent lingers in his office, or at least that is what he claims is the reason he can't concentrate on anything for longer than seconds at a time. He can only be grateful he didn't have any important meetings or phone calls, with the trip to Beijing having been a success, and that he managed to be out the door at a quarter to six. There was an even match between his secretary and the doorman of his building in who seemed more surprised to see him pass by. In the end he thinks his secretary won.

He is deciding between ordering food from the concierge service or the place down the street, when the elevator announces a guest and she is there. The grin he has barely been able to keep off his face the entire afternoon is back before he can ever think of stopping it.

"You're late," he points out, his wristwatch telling him that it is six o two, as she saunters through the door and put her arms around his neck in a gesture so natural and uninhibited that it sends a wave of fluttering through his gut.

"Good things come to those who wait"

He chuckles and his arms wrap around her instinctively. She rests her head on his shoulder, breathing in deeply and allowing his scent to invade her mind. It has been so long since she saw this version of him, her very own Chuck. Pulling back they share a burning look, a brief touch of lips.

"Hi." She is smiling like a fool, she can tell, but still she can't keep from grinning.

"Hi." He replies, brushing a stray curl out of her face before kissing her again. His lips soon finding hers again, their tongues caught up in a leisurely dance.

"What do you want to do?" He reluctantly breaks off the kiss and turns around in search for his phone, "Are you hungry? We could go out to dinner, or order in."

"Oh, I don't think we will be going anywhere," she muses, untying her light summer coat with a look on her face that surely catches his attention. He knows that face well, and it has the muscles in his stomach tightening in memory. Her coat falls open and he can do nothing but stare at the vision before him.

There is nothing but emerald satin and smooth skin underneath her coat. He must have made some kind of sound, because a smug look flashes in her eyes and she saunters toward him on high heels, her coat ending up in a heap on the floor.

"How about a house tour?" She offers. His hands wrapping almost cautiously around her waist, he knows he's playing with fire. Scorching, pleasurable heat. "I've been here before, but I haven't seen much of the place yet."

"Is there any room in particular that you had in mind?" He replies huskily, his finger trailing her collar bone, pleased as his touch has goose bumps appearing on her silky skin and she shivers in his arms.

"I trust you to be," her breath hitches as his finger travel lower, tracing the cup of her bra, "creative."

* * *

"Alright, so now I've seen the hallway again…"She murmurs against his skin later on. "…and the bedroom. I must say Bass, I love what you've done with the place."

She feels more than hears is throaty chuckle from her position splayed out on his chest. The two of them lying in the middle of the dishevelled bed.

"I'm glad you enjoyed your tour." He goes on with her joke, and she is smiling against his skin. She shivers, a little cold now that her heated skin is cooling down. He is quick to pull the covers over the two of them, and she can't help but let out a satisfied sigh and stretch her legs lazily. The movement has her leg rub against his thigh, and she lifts her head to look at him as he shudders, a groan rumbling at the back of his throat.

"I guess I should repay you somehow, for the tour I mean." She moves so that she is straddling him, a smug smile playing on her lips when she can see his eyes begin to cloud over. Knowing the affect she has on him is the greatest power trip she has ever known, and she knows that the desire burning in his eyes are reflected in her own.

"I am sure we can work out some kind of, payment plan."

* * *

"We need to get out of this bed." He rolls on to his back, the two of them next to one another on the bed. Moving his head to the side he looks at her, taking in her disheveled appearance and swollen lips. Unable to keep his hands off her, even if for no more than a few seconds, he somehow summons energy enough to roll over so that he is lying on his stomach, and reaches out to brush a curl of brown hair from her face. She lets out a breathy laugh at his gesture, peeking at him from the corner of her eye.

"I feel like I've been electrocuted."

"I can't feel a thing below my neck." He retorts, and he is almost slurring his words but it feels appropriate because he _feels_ drunk, high as a kite, on everything Blair Waldorf. His hand has come to rest just below her collar bone and he has no intention of even trying to lift it.

"Am I wearing you out, Bass?" She winks with a smug look on her face.

"Tsk, tsk, Warldorf." He replies, and slowly turns his head around. With movements slow and shaky like an old man's he reaches out for his wristwatch and checks the time. "I know you like referring to me as 'oh God', but I am only human after all. And right now I'm a man who hasn't eaten in twelve hours."

"What?"

"Surprised? Well, I guess that is understandable given my amazing stamina, but it's true."

She laughs, but her try at swatting his shoulder is cut short and she lets out a groan. The muscles in her arm straining and aching from the attempted, spontaneous gesture. "Alright, maybe we should get something to eat. After I shower."

"Shower?" The dark (and promising) glint in his eyes return.

"What happened to not feeling a thing below your neck, Mister 'I'm only human after all'?"

"Call me Zeus?"

* * *

"You're _cooking_?" Her voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns in the direction of her voice. She is wearing his shirt; the sleeves rolled up and the hem reaching her mid-thigh, barefoot and her hair is still damp from their shower.

"You sound surprised." An eyebrow raised in challenge as he proceeds with his ministrations. "I'd tell you how I'm a man of many talents, did I not have scars on my back to prove you already knew that."

"What are you making?" She ignores his last words, her hands skimming over the marks that are actually visible on his back and soothing the marks with her lips before leaning over his shoulder to get a better look at what he is doing. A waft of shampoo hits his nostrils. What she finds has her snorting with laughter.

"What?" He frowns for good measure, busy adding some more cheese to the mac n' cheese he's been busy preparing.

"Nothing," she snorts, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Do you have a doctor on speed dial for events like this? You cooking, I mean."

"You wound me. Now pass me the parmesan."

* * *

They end up enjoying their somewhat Spartan meal out on the terrace, seated on the striped cushions of one of the sun-loungers. The night sky is clear around them; the sounds of New York barely audible that many stories up. The air is warm, summer just around the corner. They eat their food like starving sailors, swallowing it down with wine - a combination that probably should be appalling, but somehow tastes better than the most expensive three course dinner.

Once the immediate hunger is satisfied, they finish their meals making relaxed small talk, him telling her about the trip to Beijing and her telling him about Princess' antics. But when he offers her a last bite of pasta from his fork, the food is quickly forgotten in favor of other pass-times.

* * *

She stirs in his arms, her hand moving across his chest underneath the blanket thrown over them, and he kisses the top of her head. He still feels like he has been mangled by a large truck, but can't (won't ever) stop touching her.

"You'll be the death of me, Waldorf." He groans tiredly when her hand travels south, and she snickers. She interrupts her teasing in order to draw slightly less teasing circles on his chest instead, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Look," she whispers, her hand appearing from underneath the blanket to point at something in the sky. He follows where she is pointing, and sees the crescent moon visible in between some of the buildings.

"So beautiful," she sighs, and looking down at her he couldn't ever not agree. "I can't believe we've wasted so much time," she continues, and this time there is a twinge of sadness in her voice. As if the moon's sorry gloom is spreading to her.

"I think we've done a good job catching up tonight, don't you agree?" He smirks, knowing very well what she is referring to, but something about her turns him into an optimist tonight.

"I do," she agrees, but to his dismay her eyes are suddenly brimming with tears, "but still…"

"Hey," he murmurs, pulling her even closer to him and placing another kiss on top of her curls. "No more tears. I'd do it all over again if I had to."

* * *

"Really?" She whispers against his skin. She knows she would too, but she needs to hear him say it one more time, lack of self-esteem still has a sliver of doubt nestled deep within her bones.

"If it'd meant I'd end up here, with you, again. Yes." He says it with such sincerity she couldn't possibly doubt his words, removing any trace of doubt. "I love you."

"I love you too," she murmurs, lifting her head to kiss him to add force to her words. "I don't think I've ever not loved you."

They fall asleep on the sun-loungers. Her head is on his shoulder and her hand on his chest, his heart beating underneath the palm of her hand. His arm is around her, holding her close.

* * *

The first dancing rays of sunlight wake them up at dawn, and he carries her inside remembering a day not so long ago when he came to see her in Paris.

Once in the warmth and comfort of his bedroom her lips find his again and desire reignites, glowing instead of burning with scorching heat. She comes, breathing his name, and when he follows her, her hand is on his cheek and her eyes locked on his.

* * *

_The rest of my life can't compare to this night_

_and only the heartaches have given me sight._

_They bring me to you_

_They bring me to you_

_Moon pours through the ceiling tonight,_

_embraces us tight._

_Shows me we're right for each other _

_And as we lay here and let the world fade away_

_The sunrise tries to end it while we try to stay_

_[]_

_It's all about the first night and last some people say_

_Well I love you so much more tonight_

_More than yesterday._

* * *

_The lyrics in this chapter are __**Joshua Radin - They bring me to you**__. I put a link to it on my profile, it's one awesomely great song._

_tbc_


	28. Denim

"You scheming little minx!"

With confusion lacing her features, Blair walks down the hallway towards the bedroom and the sound of his voice. A glance down at her wristwatch tells her that they really should have left five minutes ago to make it to Al's house in time. For the first time in, forever, she finished getting ready before he did and she is not about to lose the opportunity to gloat a little.

"No, don't give me that look! You're on time out." He continues, his voice very audible in the otherwise empty apartment. When she reaches the bedroom, she stops and stares at the sight that awaits her there.

He is muttering something under his breath, glaring at the ebony kitten on the floor in front of him. Princess is seemingly completely unfazed by his scolding; too busy cleaning her own paw with disinterest written all over her. The kitten is the first to notice her in the doorway however, letting out a proud purr and leaping towards her.

"Have you been mean to daddy, P?" She coos, lifting Princess off the floor and burying her nose in the silky fur. "You have to play nice when you come over for visits, daddy gets jealous you know."

He acknowledges her last statement with another glare, then seems to remember the reason he was displeased with the kitten in the first place.

"Look what _your_ little _monster_ did." He scoffs, holding out what looks more like one of Dorota's dusters than the pricey silk accessory she assumes it is. Or maybe she should say _was_ - the grey silk is now completely in tatters.

This time she can't quite keep the laughter from spilling out, and he interrupts his search through a drawer in the dresser to shoot her an exasperated look.

"Aw, P. Did the stupid ascot try and put up a fight?" She smiles, the kitten busy gnawing at her hands as she walks up to him. This isn't the first time she is forced to play peace keeper between her baby and him.

"She mauled it!"

He is still glaring in the kitten's direction, but seems to have found a good enough replacement, and is tying it around his neck.

"I'm sorry _sweetie_," Her voice is saccharine sweet at the use of the abhorred nickname, her hand brushing his cheek. She is using the very same voice she did talking to the kitten just seconds ago, and he scowls at her when he notices and shrugs away from her touch.

"Oh, come on." She laughs, ignoring his frown and lets the kitten down before putting her arms around his neck. "She's just a baby."

He is still obviously unhappy with the two females in his life, and she resolves to using the last resort when it comes to smoothing his feathers by adding; "I must say, you don't look half bad, Bass."

"Of course I don't." He drawls, the look in his eyes letting her know that he knows exactly what she is doing, but that he is willing to let it go this time. She smiles, and this time as she leans in to kiss him he doesn't pull away, his hands moving south, and coming to an abrupt stop as he reaches her hips.

"You're wearing jeans!" He is surprised, apparently only having noticed her unusual choice of attire now, and pulls back to get a better look.

* * *

He is captivated by the dark denim that clings to her legs, giving her a thorough and appreciative once-over.

"You said casual, right?" She asks, sounding a little unnerved by his reaction, and he is quick to reassure her.

"I did. And had I known it would lead to this, I would have come up with a 'casual' event sooner. You look, ravishing." He emphasizes his words with a kiss, enjoying the pleased look that flickers in her eyes. "Al will be thrilled that you're coming." He continues, rolling up the sleeves of his striped shirt.

* * *

"Fashionably late, as always." Al grins at Chuck as they walk through the door of her apartment, and he greets her with a confident smirk. "Blair, I'm so glad you could make it!" the redhead goes on, embracing her in a friendly hug.

They've come past their initial truce over the last couple of weeks. Blair having gotten over her jealous streaks, and Al accepting her with open arms after having made sure she wasn't about to hurt her best friend again. Fact is, she likes the bubbly, easy-going redhead. And tonight she has reason to be a little curious too.

"Is he here?" She whispers, and feels Al nod in response against her cheek before they let go of each other.

They follow Al into the living room where a dozen others are mingling, sipping on drinks and helping themselves to food, in the spacious, colourful room. Serena and Nate are there, talking to a tall, broad-shouldered man with raven hair. She assumes it must be Sebastian, judging from the look he gives Al when she walks in the room. He is the guy with the 'true potential' as Al so kindly described him a couple of weeks ago when they were trying on their dresses at Serena's place. Chuck is greeting a couple he obviously knows from previous parties, as Al almost skips over to her date and put her arms around his neck. The greeting doesn't escape Chuck's attention completely though, and he is back by Blair's side in a second.

"Is that him?" He says, and she has to smile at the protective tone in his voice.

"Be nice," she admonishes softly, putting her hand on his chin to turn his head away from the couple.

He narrows his eyes at that but lets it go, kissing her before walking over to the kitchen to get them some drinks. As the evening progresses she finds herself having a good time, laughing and talking both with her old friends as well as some of the new acquaintances. Sebastian turns out to be a genuinely great guy, and most of all he seems to be head over heels for Al.

* * *

The three of them are talking when a hand sneaks around her waist and Chuck is there beside her. After three weeks together she still hasn't gotten used to the wave of joy that crashes through her system at the small gesture.

"Fish!" Al smiles, barely able to tear her eyes away from her date, and standing so close that the skirt of her dress is brushing against his leg. "This is Sebastian."

There is a hint of warning in her eyes that is meant only for him as he offers his hand to the dark-haired man.

"Sebastian, it's a pleasure." he nods, not liking the look in the man's eyes when he looks at Al at all. "I'd like a word with you, in private, if you don't mind."

"Chuck-"

"Fish-"

The words of warning are immediately delivered in chorus from both Blair and Al. The latter gives him a threatening look that he chooses to ignore.

"Sure," Sebastian agrees, and he has to bite back a remark as the guy puts his mouth on Al. He doesn't like this.

He motions to Sebastian to step out on Al's small balcony, and is just about to follow him when five finger nails, sharp as claws, dig into his arm and stop him in his steps. He doesn't need to check to know who it is, and has to bite his cheek to keep from grinning as he turns around and is faced by a murderous Al.

"Allison? Something on your mind?" He drawls, and raises an eyebrow at the hiss escaping her lips when he uses her full name.

"Be. Nice!" Al growls, her finger nails digging in deeper into his arm. "Seriously, Fish. Give the Mafioso impression a rest, will you? I like this guy!"

* * *

"Blair! There you are!" Al's voice cut through her thoughts as the redhead walks through the door to the kitchen. "I have someone I'd like you to meet." Al continues, and that is when she notices the man standing behind the redhead. "This is my friend Adrian."

Adrian has the build of someone who has never stepped foot in a gym but has been blessed with great genes, with short sand coloured hair, and his handshake is firm as they exchange greetings.

"Adrian owns a gallery a few blocks from here," Al explains, exchanging a quick look with her friend.

"Al tells me you're a photographer, and a great one at that." Adrian tells her, and she notices a tiny silver dragon dangling from a ring in his ear.

"Al has a tendency to exaggerate," She objects, the ever-remaining sliver of insecurity snaking its way back into her gut. She can hear Philippe at the back of her head, telling her to give it a rest, that she has no talent.

"Exaggerating? Me?" Al objects in mock offense, "Are you calling me a drama-queen? Besides, I already showed Adrian the photo you gave Serena."

_She did what?_

"It is a very good photograph," Adrian states in the matter of fact tone of a professional "Walk with me Blair," He smiles, offering her his arm, "We need to discuss your brilliant future."

* * *

"You really didn't think I'd realize it was you?"

Her voice cuts through the numbing buzz of the people inside the apartment and he takes a final drag of his cigarette before sending it over the railing.

"I'm not sure I follow," he turns around to face her, taking in the visual she provides, a dark form in the backlight, and pretending he really doesn't have a clue about what she's talking about. But of course he does. Al should have gotten to her by now, with that Adrian fellow.

"You have a key to Serena and Nate's place." She continues, hands on her hips, but he is barely paying attention to anything but those gorgeous legs of hers covered in dark denim. She looks so fucking amazing in just about anything was he the least insecure of himself he'd feel threatened. Now he just feels lucky.

"I might, as the best man, have access to the Archibald residence."

"You let Al inside to show Adrian my photograph." She frowns, but she doesn't seem that upset about it all so he keeps quiet and moves towards her instead. He comes to a stop just inches away from her and his hands find their way around her waist on their own volition, stopping just above what she will allow in public.

She instinctively takes a step closer, and he hides a victorious smirk by giving attention to her delectable neck, trailing kisses down the column of her throat.

"You were behind all this," she goes on, but her voice is softer now, and her hand comes to rest on his neck, pulling him closer.

"Huh?" he mutters, moving his attention to the shell of her ear and at the same time lowers his hands, deciding that she should wear jeans more often. "No, actually. This one was all Al." He admits. He actually felt a little peeved that Al thought of it before he did, but in the end the important thing is that someone did.

"Oh," she breathes, her other hand coming to rest on his chest. "Are you trying to distract me, Bass?"

"Is it working?" He retorts, his lips brushing against hers before he opens his eyes to look at her. Yes, he decides, it is definitely working, and in that second he has to suppress the urge to lift her up and drag her back to his apartment immediately.

"Maybe."

There is an unmistakable challenge in her eyes that he is quick to accept. In one swift motion, he moves so that she is standing with her back against the railing and covers her mouth with his. He kisses her until he can feel the hand at the back of his neck fisting in his hair, and she is pressed flush against his body before he pulls back. His breath is not as unaffected as the schemer in him might have preferred. She lets out a displeased whine at the lack of contact, and he congratulates himself on a job well done, despite his own uneven breathing.

"Still upset with me?"

"About what?"

* * *

_tbc_


	29. Seventeen rooms and flying pigs

**Three months later.**

* * *

**From: Chuck**

Miserable without me?

**From: Blair**

I don't have time for booty calls, Bass

**From: Chuck**

I'll take that as a yes.

Meet me in twenty?

**From: Blair**

Whatever kind of secret rendezvous it is that you have planned, it's out of the question.

**From: Chuck**

I want to show you something.

**From: Blair**

You showed me that this morning.

**From: Chuck**

Get your mind out of the gutter, Waldorf

**From: Blair**

Fine, give me thirty minutes.

Where?

* * *

"How's the show coming along? I'm so happy we'll get back in time." Serena asks over the phone from a sunny beach in the Caribbean, and the surge of nervous adrenaline is instant at the mentioning of her up-coming exhibition. She has spent the last month in frenzy; meeting with Adrian and the gallery, shooting, developing, and discussing lighting and guest lists. With no more than one week left, she has spent the last days altering between 'feigned calm' and 'nervous wreck'. Luckily Chuck is very adept in the art of stress-relief.

The memory of their text conversation earlier has a smile playing on her lips as she tells her honeymooning BFF all about the preparations, and the photographs, and Adrian's blind faith in her being the 'next big thing'.

"…Nate! I'm on the phone!" Serena suddenly laughs over the line, and Blair cringes – holding the phone a good four inches away from her ear.

"Serena, please make that man-bang-sporting husband of yours go away, this is important!" she demands, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. It's not that she doesn't approve of the other half of the Non-Judging Breakfast Club being nauseatingly happy and head-over-heels for each other, she just prefers to be happy for them without the visual and/or audible evidence.

"Sorry B," Serena laughs, and even though she can tell quite easily from her friend's tone of voice that earlier mentioned husband is still within reaching distance she doesn't say anything.

"You should be." She points out wryly, because she might approve but she doesn't necessarily need them to _know_ that she does - that she is one hundred percent pro-Mr. and Mrs.-Nathaniel-Archibald. There is no immediate answer on the other end of the line, and when a muffled giggle reaches her ears she lets out a yelp and is quick to hang up with a roll of her eyes.

The cab parks behind a very familiar limo and she steps out into the soft September sunlight. She has never been to this address before and looks around curiously as she gets out of the car. The - for New York - unusually peaceful dead-end street is encircled by old brownstone buildings that have been carefully restored to their former glory. She spots him immediately, leaning against the limo, arms crossed over his chest and that ever-present smirk playing on his lips.

"Bass."

"Blair," he greets her as she walks up to him, and she is quick to notice the hint of uncertainty in his eyes before he kisses her hello. He kisses her properly though, his kisses are never uncertain or hesitant, no matter how soft or brief there is always the confident, passionate trace of 'Chuck Bass' in them, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"So, what is it that you wanted to show me?" She asks him moments later, and gives his hand a barely noticeable, reassuring, squeeze as their fingers lace together.

"This." He nods in direction of the building closest to them. They're standing in front of a gorgeous brownstone house with wrought iron details and ivy covering parts of the façade. The house is by far the prettiest in sight and for a millisecond she can picture dark-haired children bouncing down the steps, heading for the waiting limo, dressed in perfectly ironed school uniforms.

"It's a beautiful house," she says, wondering what kind of new business plan he is working on that has him venturing towards private homes.

"You think?" He questions, and she nods in reassurance. He straightens a little where he is standing, and his grip of her hand seems to relax. "Come on, I'll show you the inside."

* * *

He can see her eyes narrow in confusion the moment he motions in direction of the house, and the expression only deepens as he pulls the key out of his own pocket and unlocks the front door. Ignoring the buzzing sound forming in his ears, he gestures for her to enter and hesitates for a second before following her inside.

They step into a bright foyer, still smelling vaguely of fresh paint, and the sound of her heels echo in the empty space. The dark wood of the staircase leading to the second floor is to the left, and there is a hallway leading to the rest of the downstairs' rooms right in front of them. The house is beautiful, perfect in every single way. He already knows that, and because of that concentrates solemnly on her face as they walk through the various rooms, all freshly renovated and with walls still waiting for a final decision regarding wallpapers or paint colours.

Her confusion is still prominent, visible in the slight furrow of her brow and that familiar line her mouth is forming. But the more she sees of the house, the more the puzzlement is replaced by soft smiles and eager anticipation. When she breathes in awe at the sight of the lavish master bedroom, he has to keep from grinning and for a second almost forgets about the weight of their future inside his pocket.

Apart from the doors leading to the master bathroom and the huge walk-in closet, there is another door leading to a room that could easily be transformed into an office. They look around and he is silently waiting for her to notice the door to the right inside the 'office'. When she does, and finds the small (but big enough) and unfurnished studio and darkroom, she turns to him with eyes wide in disbelief.

"There's even a darkroom!" She exclaims, and he knows right that instant that he can't put off the inevitable, the purpose of this spontaneous house tour, any longer.

"Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding me?" She breathes, forgetting all about manners and ladylike behaviour when faced with her dream house. "This house is perfect!"

"Good," he smirks, "I was hoping you'd say that, since I bought it this morning."

* * *

"You bought it?" She experiences a brief pang of envy for the lucky people that will get to live here. "Why? What are you going to do with it?"

"I wanted to." He replies with such relaxed ease that she is reminded of just how easy spending money has always been to him. But then she picks up on the dwelling uncertainty in the way he carries himself, and cocks an eyebrow in question.

* * *

It is not that he doubts her answer, not at all. He is Chuck Bass for fuck's sake, he is a catch. So there really isn't a reason good enough as to why his heart is racing in his chest, and his throat is suddenly so dry he can't speak.

There are a few seconds of silence in which she is waiting for an answer with a frown lacing her features, and he is trying not to choke. Then, with a casual shrug of his shoulder and a slight tilt of his head he jumps off the deep end.

"You always talked about how you didn't want your kids to grow up in an apartment, or a suite at some hotel." He begins, and watches her expression change from confusion to incredulity.

"Wha..you…kids?" She stutters, and he smirks. Her apparent loss of words is definitely a positive thing, and he can stop himself from having a little fun with it.

"Kids, Waldorf." He drawls, "Tiny, wailing, humans that comes from sex, preferably lots and lots of it if you ask me. A family usually consists of a few of them. I'm not picky when it comes to numbers, but having been an only child most of my life I'd prefer to have at least two."

She is staring at him in shocked silence, looking as if he just grew two (devilishly attractive) heads.

"Family?" Her voice is much softer now, and she is slowly moving closer to him.

"Yes. Family." He agrees, brushing a piece of lint off his sleeve. "I have considered you family since we were fourteen, if not before that, but when we get married we'll become family in the more legal way of the word. Families should live in houses, and there should be kids involved somehow, hence the purchase of this house you seem so very infatuated with."

* * *

She is pretty sure that the world just stopped in its tracks. That doomsday has arrived or that pigs are flying by outside the window. Because _Chuck Bass_ just spoke words such as family and kids and _marriage_, and kept a straight face the entire time. Either that or she is having some kind of seizure because her entire body is buzzing with some kind of electrical current.

"What did you say?" She whispers, because he really kind of lost her at the word 'married',

"You are going to marry me, Waldorf."

He says it with such casual ease, and a shrug of his shoulder as had he just suggested they got take-out for dinner, that for a second she is wholly convinced she heard wrong.

"I…What?"

"You and I are going to get married." He repeats in the voice of someone spelling something out to a complete imbecile, but his eyes glitter in amusement as he does. She is merely staring back at him, a voice somewhere at the back of her head telling her that this is probably something she should respond to.

The smirk on his lips widen into a amused grin and suddenly he is right in front of her, his hands finding hers - hanging limp at her sides - and intertwine their fingers again. It is still one of her favourite physical feelings in the whole world, even with all the mind-blowing, toe-curling feelings he can provoke in her, the sensation of his fingers entwined with hers still makes her breath hitch. With her head bowed down, she looks at their hands in silence, slowly feeling the confusion and shock leaving room for an overwhelming emotion that kick-starts the world back into moving again. Then his thumb brushes over the back of her hand, the only sign that he is waiting for a response of some sort, and the voice at the back of her head is finally able to swamp the wild buzzing noise.

* * *

Had he been any less self-secure, her silence would have been excruciating. Now it's only completely and utterly nerve-wracking. Did he do this all wrong? Too soon? Four months together isn't really a long time, even though it feels like years in some ways. Or did he say something bad? What if she says no?

The second he is about to open his mouth and say something she tilts her head up and looks at him, and he can breathe an inwardly sigh of relief.

"Is that so?" She says, mischief and joy dancing in her eyes, and he knows right in that second that she is all in. "And why would I consider such an offer?"

"Because you can't resist my devilishly good looks or overwhelming sexual appeal." He drawls in complete confidence. "I'm considered quite the catch, you know."

"Is that so?"

"It is, I read it in a magazine." He winks, and she shoots him a look as if telling him to go on. "And you would get to live here, in this house."

She pretends to contemplate her decision.

"It _is_ a lovely house." She agrees, like that is the sole reason for her to accept his offer, and if he wasn't so freakishly overwhelmed by this whole thing he would laugh out loud. But he still can't quite relax and believe in what is happening, and right then all he wants is to make it official - see his ring on her finger.

He untangles his fingers from her grasp, and reaches inside the pocket of his jacket to retrieve the familiar-looking blue box. He can hear her awed gasp when he opens the box and reveals the platinum, cushion diamond ring, and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for a ring well picked.

"I love you," he tells her softly, eyes still glued on the box in his hand and suddenly feeling very, uncharacteristically, humble because really, who is _he_ to ask her - _Blair Waldorf_ - to be his wife? He doesn't come close to deserving her, but he wants her and loves her so he asks her anyway because she might be Blair Waldorf but he is still Chuck Bass and he makes sure he gets what he wants. And he wants her, no one but her, forever. "You are everything to me, Blair. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?"

He looks up at her as he finishes his confession, and finds that she is crying. Tears are falling down her cheeks in a seemingly never-ending stream, but she is smiling and nodding her head vigorously.

* * *

"Yes." She breathes, feeling like a fool for crying but unable to stop. It was never a sliver of a doubt in her mind that she would say anything but yes, did he ever ask her, but she barely believe she will actually get to have him, only him, forever. "Yes, Chuck, I'll marry you. I love you."

He smiles at that - one of those genuine smiles that she doesn't get to see that often - and that few people ever see in the first place, and then proceeds to slide the ring onto her finger.

It fits her perfectly and she knows she will never, ever want to take it off again. She spends a good ten seconds admiring her ring, only brought out of her revelry when he grabs her wrist with an impatient growl and crashes his lips against hers. Moments later they are stumbling towards the still undecorated and unfurnished bedroom, all forgotten except the burning need to feel skin against skin, and feeling it inside what will become their master bedroom when they live in _their_ house with _their _family.

* * *

"So, what's next, now that our master bedroom has been properly christened, Waldorf-soon-to-be-Bass?" He murmurs against her neck a while later, in between lazy nips and licks. His hand is already skimming down her waist and leaving goose-bumps in its wake. She swears this man is insatiable.

"Waldorf-…Bass." She sighs, her objection nearly swallowed completely by a moan. The hyphen has his hand coming to an abrupt stop, and she whimpers in protest as he pulls back to look at her.

"Waldorf-Bass," She repeats, more firmly now, because marriage or no marriage (perfect bliss or even more perfect bliss) she has no intention of being named 'Blair Bass'. Then she might as well change her name to Baby, buy a Chihuahua, book her first Botox appointment.

His eyes narrow at her objection, but then his hand resume its ministrations. When she shudders and bites her lip to suppress a moan, he smirks and there is a silent challenge in his eyes that she can easily detect.

_If I can make you come…_

She accepts with a slow, deliberate stroke, a smirk lacing also her features when he sucks in a breath.

…_before I do,__I win._

There are seventeen rooms in their new home, he told her earlier. Uneven numbers, a tie is not possible. They both know that this latest 'game' of theirs - no matter the outcome - is really a case of a win-win situation.

* * *

_tbc_


	30. Epilogue

She wakes up with a start, her senses immediately on alert as she sits up in the large, king-size bed. She listens closely, but when she can't hear a sound she falls back against the mattress with a tired sigh. A glance over at the alarm clock on her nightstand lets her know it's almost four A.M. Three more hours before he has to get up and be the ever-successful CEO of Bass Industries; before Dorota arrives and a new day begins. Close to dozing off again, she inches over to curl up against him, her arm reaching out for him underneath the covers. When she finds nothing but empty sheets where he is supposed to be, she is fully awake once again and lifts her head from the pillow to make sure he really isn't there in bed with her.

He isn't, but the sheets are still warm so he can't have been gone for long, and she has a pretty good idea of where he might be. After a second's deliberation she swings her feet over the edge of the bed and gets up. The sound of her footsteps is barely audible as she leaves the room, grabbing her robe from where it is lying on the settee at the foot of the bed. Stepping out in the hallway she listens carefully but can't hear much beside the sounds of the house and the barely-there noises of the street outside. A friendly purr interrupting the silence has her nearly jumping out of her own skin, and she shoots Princess a dark look as the cat comes running over to her from her earlier position at the top of the staircase. Who needs a guard dog when you have a ferocious, accessory-mauling cat? She smiles as Princess rubs against her legs, and bends down to scratch the cat behind a silky ear.

The pale, silver moonlight is casting muted shadows in the dim hallway, the photographs and artwork on the green walls looking as if they are completely in black and white. It's the perfect house, as wonderful now as the first time she saw it three years ago. She spent weeks with the interior designer they assigned for the job, making sure everything turned out just the way they wanted it, close to stalking the poor woman in her attempts to monitor the process from start to finish. But it had paid off, she thinks and smiles to herself, the house had been ready well in time for their wedding, and nothing could possibly have beaten returning from their honeymoon only to move into their new home.

She walks unhurriedly down the hall, absentmindedly twirling the wedding band on her finger and stifling a yawn. Well at the end of the hallway, she can hear him moving around inside the room there, murmuring, and slows down so that she is almost tip-toeing. The sight that awaits her once she is standing in the doorway has her heart swelling in her chest.

There they are - the two of them together - the two people in this world that she loves more than anything. The part of her mind that is always looking for the next great shot takes a mental picture of the image they portray. The master of the mansion, all sharp angles and dark hair, and cradled safe and sound in his arms – her head resting in the crock of his neck - is the centre of their universe, the axis on which their joined world turns. Isabella Grace.

The moonlight is falling through the window, illuminating the room and showering them in pale light. He is humming, she realizes, rocking back and forth on his heels in a way she knows her daughter likes. Demands might actually be a better choice of word. She might be no more than four months old, but Isabella Bass already knows what she wants, and makes sure she gets it. Isabella is merrily banging her hand against his chest and Blair can tell that her daughter is clearly not even close to sleepy. He chuckles at her behavior, bowing his head down to brush his lips against the baby's temple, and she can almost smell that lovely baby smell in her own nostrils just from watching him.

* * *

He is not sure what woke him up. Given how tired he had been when he finally got back from his late-night conference call just after midnight he should be dead to the world. But wake up he did, and walked into the nursery only to find Isabella – his beautiful, happy, and intelligent baby girl - awake too and babbling happily at the sight of him.

"You should be sleeping, Isabella." He points out to the baby and stifles a yawn but Isabella seems to take no notion to his words. Where his daughter has gotten her night owl tendencies from he has no idea, should that really kick in before adolescence? He knows that Blair was up two hours ago, for he vaguely remembers the whispered 'go back to sleep' before she left the bed.

"Don't think this staying up all night will continue when you're older." He scolds her gently, already cringing at the thought of his baby girl running around the UES with boys just waiting to put their icky paws on her. And there will be boys chasing after her, of that he is unfortunately completely positive. As if anyone could resist a Bass.

"Mommy's going to have to teach you the infamous Blair Waldorf shin kick" He concludes, and places a kiss on top of her dark, downy hair. Isabella's only reaction to her father's attempt to get her back to sleep is to reach out for the buttons of his shirt and clap her hand against his chest.

He captures her tiny hand in his, smiling as she grips his index finger and lets out a delighted squeal. That is when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. The ungraceful flip-flop inside his chest is just as prominent as always as he looks up at Blair standing in the doorway.

* * *

Two pairs of eyes in the same shade of dark whiskey turn her way. Isabella is reaching out for her instantly and letting out a happy noise as she does so.

"You're not supposed to keep her up." She reprimands him softly as she walks up to them.

"We're having a very important father-daughter conversation." he replies and hands their daughter over to her. Chuck watches the way Isabella clings to her mother and notices how she instantly looks more tired than the second before. "Why are _you_ up?" He continues, putting his arm around Blair's waist and yawning again.

"You weren't there." She tells him, as if that alone would be a reason to travel to the moon and back in search of him. When she too lets out a yawn, he leads them over to the armchair big enough for two in the corner of the room.

She leans back against the armrest, her legs thrown over his and his arm around her shoulders, Isabella resting comfortably in her arms.

The silence that fell once they sat down is interrupted as Blair starts humming something under her breath. It makes him smile because he never knew she could carry a tune until Isabella came around. But she can and she hums a lullaby that rarely fails to put their daughter to sleep. Soon the youngest member of the Bass family is fast asleep, and he can feel Blair's head come to rest against his arm. That is when he carefully takes the baby, and puts Isabella down in her crib before turning to his wife.

"Mrs. Bass?" He murmurs, holding out his hand. She takes it, but not without a roll of her eyes. She still hangs on to that hyphen relentlessly, but he knows better. The bet is still somewhat open, how that happened they are not quite sure, but thanks to the very loyal employees as Bass Industries' legal department, all her papers says 'Blair Bass'.

"Waldorf-Bass." Her objection is cut short by another broad yawn as they walk down the hallway hand in hand.

"Your passport begs to differ." He points out as they climb into bed. The way the palm of her hand hits his shoulder is not as indignant as it could have been, and is definitely countered by how she curls up close to him. Her head is on his arm and her leg slung over his hip.

"Mother-chucker." She mumbles, already half asleep, her hand moving over his chest only to stop above his heart.

"Love you too…Mrs. Bass." He smiles, and is sure that she has fallen asleep when there is no immediate or witty reply. Closing his eyes he too is seconds from succumbing to sleep, when her low, sleepy mumble momentarily brings him back to consciousness.

"…love you."

* * *

**FIN**

* * *

_**A/N **__There you have it guys…it's all finished! _

_**Abby**__- my wonderful beta - I can't ever thank you enough for sticking with this story for so freaking long! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! :)_

_(-hands over virtual version of Chuck looking as hot as always in his new hair and with no shirt on- )_

_Big thank you's also to Noirreigne and Maddy for helping out with the beta of a few chapters, you guys rock. _

_Then there are you, all the lovelies that have followed this fic (and maybe even WWCCD before that)… You have made this such an amazing experience._

_And to those of you who have reviewed along the way, you've made my day on more occasions than I can count, THANK YOU! _

_Thanks for reading._


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